


windmill, windmill

by dami_an



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alpha Miya Osamu, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Brother/Brother Incest, Eventual Romance, Family Drama, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M, Masturbation, Omega Miya Atsumu, Sexual Fantasy, Slow Burn, Twincest, miyacest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:28:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26601406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dami_an/pseuds/dami_an
Summary: Every word was uttered in slow, measured cadences. Hung heavily in the living room. Like they weighed a tonne each, and Atsumu didn't understand why.Didn't understand the gravity of the situation."You're now an Omega, Atsumu," his father said. Carefully. Tactfully.A dive in his gut. Sudden. Deep."Considering you two are twins, your brother could present as an Omega too."in which atsumu’s an omega & osamu’s an alpha
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Miya Osamu
Comments: 214
Kudos: 1105





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> because apparently, atsumu’s the older one, and that’s just... brilliant
> 
> **mind the tags.** not your cup of tea? the back button is the answer
> 
> unbeta’ed. we die like daichi

Being an Omega is a challenge in this cruel world. Making up ten per cent of the world population, Omegas are at the bottom of the hierarchy. Expected to be submissive. Denied equal rights. Oppression is a lifetime companion for an Omega.

Though, it's a small comparison to being a male Omega. Or little to nothing, at all.

Male Omegas are proven barren despite the Omega DNAs inside their body. They're the living proof of genetic faults in humans; a cursed presence in their society. Alphas and Betas often see them as nothing but toys, while female Omegas scorn their existence.

Hah, bullshit, Miya Atsumu thinks.

So what if he's a male Omega? What if he can't bear children? Fewer things to focus on. More time to play volleyball, then. Those condescending eyes? Fuck it if he gives a shit about them. Atsumu has had enough practice from middle school when people couldn't accept the fact that they were scrubs.

And those attempts to make him submit? Hah, a solid punch on their face is more than enough to deter those stupid Alphas. If he hadn't had a chance to punch their teeth, that would be because Osamu had kicked their sorry ass first.

("Stupid 'Samu, I could fend fer myself, ya shit!!!"

"He got the last Mie-mie pudding," Osamu dusted off his shoe.

...well, okay.)

Sure, being a male Omega is exhausting. Depressing, even. More so when Atsumu stands out like a sore thumb even among the Omegas; ash blonde hair, tall built, brimming with confidence in his athletic abilities, and selfish. A far cry from a timid, submissive Omega, which incites more hatred and envy from his Omega peers.

But that's okay. It's okay because he has Osamu by his side. A constant presence in his chaotic life. The lifeline when everything overwhelms him.

Still...

Letters spill out of his shoe locker like an avalanche once Atsumu opens it. There's a passing 'uh-oh' from Rintarou behind him, and Atsumu is going to ignore that little shit. Annoyed, he crouches down and sweeps up some of them.

"Persistent little shit, eh?" Osamu helps him.

"Persistent pigs," Atsumu scoffs.

"See you at the lab, Osamu," Rintarou calls.

"Sure," Osamu says while Atsumu continues picking up the letters.

Oh. 

His eyes catch some notes written in red. Bold red. Atsumu picks them up, skimming over—

Slut.

Cocksleeve.

Trash.

Whore—

A hand snatches those notes from his hold. Atsumu turns to his right. And sees the dark look on Osamu's face.

"Asshole," Osamu spits out, crumpling the notes in his fist until his knuckles turn white. There's no scent coming off of him despite the fuming rage. No, because he hasn't presented yet.

Atsumu hums thoughtfully. Then slaps a palm on Osamu's back. He smirks, "Don't be an Omega, 'kay?"

Because this shit is just depressing, and he hates to see Osamu suffering.

  
  


...

  
  


He remembers the day after his first heat like it was yesterday. Even though it happened a year ago.

Atsumu remembers how sluggish and sore his body was. Warm from the intense heat. Osamu's arm around his shoulder was like a balm. Cool and comforting.

Remembers the dark circles under his father's eyes behind those glasses, his sunken cheeks, his messy hair as he attempted to explain the changes in Atsumu's life. 

Every word was uttered in slow, measured cadences. Hung heavily in the living room. Like they weighed a tonne each, and Atsumu didn't understand why.

Didn't understand the gravity of the situation.

"You're now an Omega, Atsumu," his father said. Carefully. Tactfully.

A dive in his gut. Sudden. Deep.

"Considering you two are twins, your brother could present as an Omega too."

His brain protested 'Nooo,' loud and desperate because no, this was painful. The ache, the intensity, even the emptiness inside him during the heat, constant need to be filled by something, anything—no, Osamu should never go through this. Osamu shouldn't—

Instead, his voice failed him, and Atsumu rested his sweaty forehead on Osamu's shoulder. Needing something to ground him on.

In the distance, his ears could hear his mother puttering about in the kitchen.

  
  


...

  
  


PE is a blessing opportunity to kick Osamu's sorry ass in the game since they're in different classes. Not volleyball, though, much to Atsumu's disappointment.

("Why not volleyball?!" Atsumu protested.

His class president gave him a look. "Last time we played, I had to send two students to the infirmary because you—" he pointed at Atsumu, then at Osamu, "—and you, smacked the ball right in their faces!!"

"They freakin' flaunted their Alpha authority in my face!!!"

"Not an excuse to harm them."

Fucking biased Beta. Atsumu wished he could spike a ball in his face too.

But then Osamu said, shrugging, "Was experimentin' if their Alpha authority could give them a shield or somethin'. Kinda disappointed when it didn't."

So cool. So nonchalant as if that was a valid excuse to spike a ball into someone's face at high speed. Then Osamu joined his classmates at the sideline like he hadn't said shit.

They were banned from volleyball during PE, but that was cool. The frustration on his class president's face was worth it.)

Class 1 gathers in the corner. Atsumu can see Osamu blending into the group, his dyed hair striking a contrast. He takes the ball and joins his class with a grin.

It's basketball today.

So he gets to play in the team because apparently, according to Kumakiri-kun, "Osamu-kun is playing too. No one can stop him but you!!!" He even shuts those dissatisfied Alphas up with a "What, you sure you can hold Osamu-kun down?" and cutting glare.

Ey, Kumakiri-kun is the best.

That's how he finds himself sprinting across the basketball court, with Osamu sticking close to him. Hah, fucking hell. Trust Osamu able to keep up with him. His eyes spot Omajiki beneath the goal post, guarded by Rintarou. Oh, chance. Atsumu grits his teeth, trying to shove his shoulder against Osamu to get away from him.

"Boo, Atsumu-kun is playing dirty!!!" A girl shouts from the sideline.

Heh. As if the simple shove can deter Osamu—

And a loud thud has Atsumu's head snapping around, only to see Osamu on the floor, sweating buckets and panting hard. As if he sprinted 200 metres, and that doesn't make any sense. No, that.

The game is forgotten, Atsumu rushes to Osamu's side. "Hey, hey, you okay—the fuck was that—fuckin' hell, 'Samu, yer burnin'!!!"

"No, am fine—just—" Osamu manages, with difficulty, and tries to get up with Atsumu's support, "—tired, yeah, that—fucK!!!"

And promptly collapses into Atsumu's arms. His weight startles a gasp out of Atsumu's mouth, heavy, and Atsumu sits down on the floor, with Osamu writhing in his arms, face tucked in Atsumu's racing pulse. Fuck, fuck. His body is scorching hot. Too alarming.

Ignoring Osamu's nails digging into his upper arm, Atsumu barks out, "Water!!"

His classmates hurry about them, alarmed. Two guys look for the teacher. Some make space, trying not to crowd them. Atsumu thinks he catches a blur of Rintarou before there's a bottle shoved in his face.

Okay, that's good. Much appreciated. 

"'Tsumu—" Another wince, "—hu—hurt—" Osamu rasps against Atsumu's throat before another wave of pain strikes his abdomen and he curls deeper in Atsumu's hold.

Fuck if that doesn't set the alarm inside Atsumu. He drops the bottle in favour of holding Osamu close. The water spills across the court. "I know, I know—fuck, 'Samu—teacher, Rin—where—"

Then.

A howl.

A howl echoes in the gym, so loud it leaves a deafening silence after, where everyone just stops dead in their tracks. Unmoving. As though paralyzed, as the realization sinks in that the pained howl—that's—

Alpha.

And Atsumu is stunned because that howl is very close. Right in his ear. That howl, it comes from the person who's in agonized pain, in his arms, clawing at his shoulders while the body is getting hotter and hotter. And there's a sharp scent assaulting Atsumu's nose.

Sharp, smoky. Burning.

Osamu. Alpha.

Fuck.

Another loud howl, and before Atsumu can process further, a shove has him laying flat on the floor, hard. Too fast that it sends him reeling, confused by the abrupt shift. He barely can hear panicked voices around him when he finally registers everything. Osamu is pinning him down by the wrist, his teeth bared, eyes bright, feral and _Alpha in rut_.

Holy shit. Atsumu's heart pounds in his chest. Fear seizes his whole body.

"Mine," the Alpha growls. A chill races down Atsumu's spine. The Omega in Atsumu whines, scared.

A sudden shove throws the feral Alpha off of him. It's Omajiki; an Alpha too, but Osamu is quick to regain his balance before he charges at Omajiki in retaliation. Atsumu feels an arm around him pull him back. He looks up, only to see Rintarou hissing, "Move, move, you shit—he's in rut—c'mon!!!" 

Atsumu scrambles to his feet, panicked, wanting to get away, awayawayaway.

"MINE!!!" A loud warning, thick with Alpha authority, complete with the sharp scent, has Atsumu stopped. It brings Atsumu's head around, gaze falling on Osamu who has Omajiki pinned down, and fuck, that's a mistake.

It's a grave mistake to clash with that intense glare, beneath that dyed fringe.

The glare speaks Alpha, Omega, mine. The Alpha demands him stay. Demands his submission. Demands him bare his scent glad so the Alpha can sink his teeth into it, deep until Atsumu is all his for the rest of their life.

The Omega inside him shakes with fear. His heart thumps loudly in the confine of his ribcage. The Alpha authority radiating off Osamu forces him to his knees. He feels suffocated wrapped in the sharp scent. Everything inside him screams at him to surrender. 

_Submit!!_

It takes Atsumu everything to not submit and bare his scent gland. Rintarou tries to yank him back, but his body refuses to move.

Then.

More Alphas charge at the feral Alpha. One by one attempt at immobilizing him, on the wrists, legs, anything as not to let the Alpha go berserk. Protests, curses, warnings, harsh words, those are all Atsumu can hear as he watches the Alpha being forced into submission, and he wants to protest, that no, they're going to hurt Osamu, please, Osamu's in pain, stop, stop, stop—

The door slams open loudly.

  
  


...

  
  


Under a shady tree, at the school gate, Kita-san waits for him. For a moment, Atsumu stands still, wide-eyed before Kita-san says, "I'll walk you home." 

Kita-san's breathing is composed. His voice is calm. He has his school bag over one shoulder. When the evening breeze picks up, his hair barely ruffles. 

"'kay," Atsumu agrees.

The walking back home is quiet. Atsumu doesn't talk much except when he's asked about what happened, and he answers the questions like he's reading a report. That the teachers rushed in to stop the brawling. That Osamu got sent to the centre since he broke into his first rut in public. That his parents drove straight to the centre after getting a call from him.

He doesn't talk about how scared he was when faced with the feral Alpha. Doesn't talk about how overwhelmed he feels when thrust into this shitty situation. Doesn't talk about how his world spirals now that Osamu presented an Alpha.

Like everything changes around him, and he's left helpless and alone.

"Is your grandmother at home?" Kita-san asks.

"Yea."

Kita-san hums thoughtfully.

The sun sinks low on the horizon. It paints the sky cranberry red. Atsumu stares out at the swaying paddy which stretches across the land, far and far beyond. He remembers how Osamu always loves watching this. Sometimes too fixated that Atsumu had to whack him around the head.

"Reminds me of food," Osamu once said. With a grin. The memory brings a pang to his heart. 

"The bruise on your wrists," Kita-san says when Atsumu thinks the conversation is long over.

Instinctively, Atsumu examines his wrists. The pale skin has darkened into light blue in a form of fingers. It's only a matter of time before the bruises settle in.

When—ah, right. Osamu did this.

"Nah, don't worry. It'll heal," Atsumu smirks.

"He did it?"

"Yea, but really, it's okay. Won't affect my play! Pinky promise!"

Kita-san hums again. Then, "You okay?"

"Yea, am okay, really—"

"Atsumu."

Kita-san looks him in the eye. Atsumu blinks, with a clueless smile. 

Kita-san keeps staring. The light in his eyes shifts. For a quiet moment, they just stand there, staring at each other, until Atsumu's smile falls, until it sinks down in Atsumu that no, Kita-san wasn't talking about that.

No. Kita-san was talking about him. About Miya Atsumu who just had a shitty day. About Miya Atsumu who almost got attacked by his own twin. About Miya Atsumu, who is an Omega and has an Alpha twin.

His stomach clenches. Atsumu hangs his head low. Stares at his shoes. Dreading the future. Afraid if Osamu becomes like any other Alphas. If Osamu views him as a sex object. If Osamu hates him because he's an Omega.

"Atsumu," Kita-san says carefully.

The evening breeze picks up again. Atsumu lifts his eyes. Then grins, "At least 'Samu ain't an Omega, yea?"

This turmoil in his chest, Atsumu thinks he can deal with it alone. Just like how he's been doing it in the past years.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhm... slow burn(?)

It's strange not to have Osamu kicking around. Whether Atsumu likes it or not, Osamu has been a constant companion for as long as he could remember. Sure he's had days where Osamu slept over at his friend's place, but it never felt this... lonely.

As though Osamu's absence leaves a void in his life.

Urgh, bullshit. Atsumu banishes that thought. He isn't codependent on Osamu. Fuck it if people often think them as a pair. He can live alone if he wishes.

(Okay, he'd be missing Osamu's cooking if he were to live alone. That jerk stole all the tastebuds in the womb, after all. Atsumu hates him so much.) 

The bunk bed feels odd without having someone wiggling at the top. The room seems so quiet without another voice nagging in the early morning. The floor appears so spacious without extra clothes scattered around.

For once, his morning routine changes. Instead of sleeping in, Atsumu wakes up early. Instead of rushing around like a storm, Atsumu takes his time to get ready. Instead of snatching a slice of bread and sprinting away, Atsumu joins his grandmother at the dining table and eats his soba quietly.

Even though it's a calm morning, it isn't a refreshing change.

"He'd still be your Osamu," his grandmother says across the table.

Yea, Atsumu wishes he believed her, but her positivity is much appreciated, so he spares her a tiny smile.

Once he finishes his breakfast and slips in his shoes, Atsumu finds Gin and Aran-kun waiting at him at the house gate. Urgh, probably Kita-san's doing, asking them to walk him to school. Geez, he doesn't need bodyguards.

"I was gone, like what, three days? And came back to this madness?" Gin crosses his arms over his chest, with a raised brow. "Dude, can you and Osamu, for once, not start shit things up?"

"We didn't do shit." Atsumu bumps his shoulder into Gin, with a dark look, because why the fuck not. Gin is asking for it.

"Yea, right. You two are like a trouble magnet. The school went crazy because of Osamu's coming of age. What are ya gonna do 'bout it?"

Whoa, crossing the line. Osamu breaking into his first rut is trouble enough, but blaming the reaction on things out of their control is a big no-no. Atsumu glares over his shoulder at Gin. One of these days, he's gonna cut that tongue off.

"Stop cursing their life like that." Aran-kun, bless him, whacks Gin around the head. "They didn't ask for this. It was out of their control. Stop asking Atsumu to take responsibility for things he doesn't do."

Gin has the grace to look apologetic while Atsumu breaks into a playful grin, "Aw, Aran-kun~! Ya do care 'bout me."

"In yer dream," Aran-kun snorts, "C'mon, chop-chop, get yer ass moving. I have a class duty this morning, and I hate to be late." He slaps on Atsumu and Gin's backs, urging them to move.

"Oooh, who's the lucky girl yer tryin' to impress?" Atsumu smirks, wriggling his brow, because, hey, Aran-kun is a cool guy, but he wouldn't do shit if it didn't benefit him.

"Wait, girl?!" Gin shouts.

"NO—"

"Yep, definitely a girl."

Gin gasps, in a very not manly way, hands covering his face, complete with a blush, "Oh wow—"

"Must be very cute," Atsumu sing-songs.

Red splashes across Aran-kun's face, much to Atsumu's amusement. "Shut yer trap, ya sneaky fox!!!"

  
  


...

  
  


Days without Osamu are long. It's like seconds have been stretched out into hours. 

Even so, practice runs as usual since the Interhigh prelims won't be postponed just because someone breaks into their first rut. 

Atsumu still gets catcalled by asshole Alphas—no, he doesn't get to punch them, much to his disdain—and scoffed by jealous pigs—hah, a middle finger is enough to shut them up. His shoe locker is filled with letters to the brim. He even gets a confession from a kind Beta girl during the lunch break, which Atsumu turns down because hey, volleyball first!

The world still spins on its axis regardless of the emptiness in Atsumu's world without Osamu hovering around.

Then.

Osamu comes home.

Atsumu just finishes his evening shower, hair dripping wet, with a towel around his neck, when he finds Osamu in the bedroom. For a moment, they just stare at each other, Atsumu in the doorway while Osamu in the middle of the room, face cast in shadows. 

Then there's a change of the scent in the air. Like woods getting burnt into ashes, and it's growing stronger. Oh, Osamu's scent, Atsumu realizes, and it seems that he's getting distressed. Even the clenching fist on his sides is a telltale sign of his stress level.

The silence in the room feels oppressive too. The longer the silence, the thicker the tension in the air. This feels too foreign. The person standing in his bedroom who has an identical look with him seems like a stranger to Atsumu even though his rational mind screams otherwise.

The scent, the presence—everything is just—

No. This is Osamu. His twin. His other half. Not even the sleeping Alpha inside that jerk can change this, can take his twin away from him.

"The hell yer gawkin' at?" Atsumu steps into the room, as casual as he can be in this heavy atmosphere, "I didn't sleep on yer bed."

Just like that, the bubble breaks. Osamu blinks. 

Atsumu walks past Osamu and sits down on the bed. He finds his phone then sends a text to the chatroom. "Ya going to school tomorrow? Last time I checked, yer shoe locker got stuck. Too many letters. Someone's got a fan club now, huh? Alpha Osamu, woot, woot."

Osamu keeps staring. The scrutiny gives Atsumu a chill, but he ignores it.

"Rin said he got ya all the notes and homework," Atsumu continues. If Osamu isn't saying shit, then he's going to keep yapping away. Anything to keep the atmosphere light. "Check the email, he told me. Probably on the cloud."

No response from Osamu. Well, okay.

"Omimi-san also—"

"'Tsumu."

A word at last. "Yea?" Atsumu lifts his eyes from the phone screen, only to see the guilt look on Osamu's face. Urgh. He hates that.

Osamu seems to have difficulty wrangling a word out. He opens his mouth. Closes it shut. And bites his bottom lip. "The other day—when I broke into my rut—" then stops himself when he feels too overwhelmed.

"What." Atsumu makes an uninterested look.

"The gym, PE, when I got into rut, I—" Osamu winces. 

Atsumu wrinkles his nose, annoyed, "Cat got yer tongue?" which is enough to set Osamu off. 

"That day, I went Alpha on ya," Osamu spits out, with a grimace, like it's disgusting. Unforgivable. A horrible crime. "I bared my teeth at ya. I growled at ya. I hurt ya."

A sigh escapes Atsumu. He scratches his head dismissively. "Shit happened. Don't worry about it."

"No, ya don't get it," Osamu insists, anger and disgust thick in his voice. Atsumu can see Osamu's jaws clenching, in an attempt to repress his fury. "I went Alpha on ya. I tried to make ya submit without yer consent. I did things those asshole Alphas had tried to do on ya. Don't ya dare brush it off just because I'm yer twin!"

"Hey—"

"Go ahead, scream at me!!!" Osamu shouts, fury radiating off of him, "Punch me!! Kick me!! I forced my Alpha authority on ya!! I forced ya to submit!! I tried to own ya like those shitty Alphas who ya hate so much—"

Right there, right then, it dawns on Atsumu that no, Osamu isn't angry because he went Alpha on him. No. Instead, he's infuriated by his Alpha side reducing Atsumu to nothing but a helpless Omega when Osamu places his value much higher than that.

And that... warms his chest a little.

Still, those self-deprecating accusations are annoying. 

Irritated, Atsumu snatches his pillow on the bed and slams it on Osamu's face. Hard.

"Barking, barking and barking, what are ya, a dog?" Atsumu hisses. While Osamu is still disoriented from the pillow attack, Atsumu springs to his feet and grabs Osamu's collar. "Who the fuck ya think I am, a helpless Omega?!"

Osamu closes his fingers around Atsumu's wrists. "I never think of—"

"Then why the fuck yer apologizin' for scarin' the shit outta me?! Ya think I got traumatized just 'cuz you fuckin' growled at me?! Ya think I got scared 'cuz ya went Alpha on me?! Ya think I'm gonna curl up like a weak Omega just 'cuz yer now an Alpha?! FUCK YOU!!!"

Osamu stares.

"Don't ya dare to think yer above me just 'cuz yer an Alpha and I'm an Omega, shithead. Nothing changes. Yer still my annoyin' twin. A scrub, nothing more," Atsumu warns, with a hiss.

That silences Osamu, wide-eyed. For a moment, silence falls between them, occasionally broken by Atsumu's ragged breaths from the outburst. Then a smile breaks across Osamu's face, followed by a little laugh, taking Atsumu by surprise.

"Yer infuriating," Osamu mutters under his breath.

"Am what—" Only to be interrupted by a flying pillow. It misses by a small margin as Atsumu manages to dodge in time. "—hey!!!"

Now the knot has been untangled, Osamu seems to be calmer. He fixes the wrinkles Atsumu caused on his collar. "Why can't ya just accept the apology like any other normal being?"

"Yea, barking like a mad dog?" Atsumu returns to his bed. Fuck, all the shouting drained his energy. He's so gonna ask Osamu to make udon for dinner. "All I heard was insults."

"Wouldja rather havin' me on my knees beggin' for forgiveness?" Osamu raises a brow.

Oho. A sight to behold, really. Atsumu smirks. "Temptation, temptation."

"Why am I surprised," Osamu says, taking the study chair to sit across Atsumu. He scoots closer. "Gimme yer hands."

"Why."

"Just—geez, don't make it difficult." Despite the annoyed tone, Osamu gently cradles Atsumu's wrists in his hands. He examines them back and forth as though he's looking for something. Maybe a small cut, or discolouration—

Oh. The bruises, Atsumu recalls. The dark colour has faded from his skin under their grandmother's care. She made sure to treat the bruises, with ointment, every night before Osamu came home.

"Osamu will be upset if he sees them," Atsumu remembers her saying. 

And really, Atsumu is glad he listened to her. The way Osamu rubs his thumb along his veins, the way he curls his fingers around the wrist, even runs his gaze all over the skin, hints at how much he cares. It'd have hurt Osamu if he saw the bruises.

"Didn't hurt much," Atsumu says, almost quietly. This atmosphere, created from the companionable silence, seems fragile, and Atsumu hates to break it. It's been a while to have Osamu so close like this. He's been missing this.

"Yea?" Osamu doesn't remove his eyes from Atsumu's wrists.

"Didn't stop me from playing volleyball."

Osamu barks a small laugh. "Of course, it didn't."

"Kita-san told me to go home early, though," Atsumu pouts.

"As expected."

A puff of warm breath on his cheek has Atsumu lifting his eyes, only to realize how close they are. So close that he can see Osamu's eyelashes, a hint of orange there from the evening sunlight, as Osamu studies Atsumu's skin. So close that he can feel the warmth radiating from Osamu, can take a whiff of Osamu's scent; like a small ember burning low in the wood.

So. That's how Osamu's Alpha scent smells like. A small ember. Hot but not smothering. Just enough to keep him warm.

"How is it," Atsumu says.

Osamu snaps his gaze up. "What is it."

"Presented as an Alpha."

A beat of pause. Then Osamu looks away. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I don't—" A heavy sigh sneaks past Osamu's lips, and he lets go of Atsumu's wrists, reclining on the chair. Atsumu instantly misses that warmth. That touch. Osamu's face is a mask. Half-hidden by the evening shadow, cast from the window. He's still, except for the glint in his eyes. And no, Atsumu can't read him like this.

"Samu."

"I wish I wasn't an Alpha," Osamu finishes.

That takes the word away from Atsumu. Odd. Alphas are at the top hierarchy. Presenting as one would be a life blessing. Something people would vie for. Even going as far as trading all the fortune just to be one.

But as Osamu gets up from the chair, Atsumu glimpses something in Osamu's eyes. Something akin to sadness, almost longing, and he bites back his tongue. Maybe something happened at the centre that made Osamu question everything. Maybe being an Alpha isn't all rainbows and flowers like they portray in the movies.

After all, the grass is always greener on the other side.

But still, there's something the least he can do.

"Osamu," he calls, just loud enough to have Osamu glancing over his shoulder in the doorway. Just enough to have that weak sunlight bathed over Osamu's face and paint his grey hair a softer shade.

Yea, this. This Osamu, eyes blinking owlishly and shoulders free from any invisible burden. This Osamu, Atsumu wants to keep him this way.

Then says, "Yer still my annoying twin."

No words are needed after that. Not when the small smile on Osamu's face, pleased and soft around the edges, conveys more than enough words to say that, 'yea, yer my annoying twin, too.'


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ﾄﾞｷ(˚ᗜ˚*)(*ﾟᗜ˚)ﾄﾞｷ it's here!! the new season!!! so excited!!!

A pillow attack on the face rouses Atsumu from his sleep, and he grunts out an annoyed 'what the fuck' under his breath. Dammit, it's still too early for this shit. Face half-buried in the pillow, he cracks an eye open, only to find Osamu already in his uniform and slinging his bag over his shoulder.

"Wake up, it's late."

Urgh, no. Atsumu pulls the blanket over his face. "...sleepy."

There's a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Kumakiri-kun will murder ya if yer late again."

"Noooooo..."

"Quit yer whinin'."

"Noooooo..." and Atsumu tugs Osamu down on the bed, barely registering a loud yelp from his twin before he rolls them both over so he ends up on top of Osamu. He catches Osamu's spiking heartbeat beneath his ear, and oh wow, what a lovely sound. The scent; it smells good. Like a small ember lit up in the early morning.

"Hey," Osamu says.

"Sleep."

"Late."

"Sleep." Atsumu slaps a hand over Osamu's eyes. No retort from Osamu. Good. Lulled by Osamu's heartbeat and blanketed in his shimmering scent, Atsumu drifts back to slumber.

And.

So.

Okay, he's late. That shit, Osamu, ditched him in bed, so he's got 30 minutes to spare—no, make it 20 minutes because the bus ride takes 10 minutes. It's a wonder how the fuck Osamu managed to slip away without waking him up.

...fine, he's a heavy sleeper, but hey, one of these days, he's going to kick Osamu's ass.

Storming out of the bedroom, Atsumu races down the stairs. He swings by the kitchen to snatch a slice of bread. Sees a plate of onigiris, though. Atsumu pauses, trading the bread for the onigiri. Oh, hot, hot, hot. He jiggles the onigiri in his hands before stuffing his face with it.

Yummy~ definitely made by Osamu. Atsumu almost squeals.

"Sit down if you want to eat," his mother admonishes, washing dishes at the sink. "Don't stuff your face like that. It's inappropriate behaviour for an Omega."

Atsumu pouts around a mouthful of onigiri. Urgh, it's way too early for Omega lessons—no, scratch that, he never has time to listen to her speech on being a proper Omega. A model Omega, moulded and decided by the society; timid and shy and submissive. Not something Atsumu aspires to be, really.

Can't fault her, though. She cares too much about society opinion on her family. Even her dress code is picked to please people; sharp trousers and pretty sweaters, with a round, pleasant face and a pair of glasses. It's almost insane how she strives to look perfect in the public eye.

"Ayano-san told me you were being mean to her daughter."

Ayano-san—ah, shit, her daughter, Akane from Class 7. A dumb girl despite her grades, well, because she let her insecurity get the best of her. He remembers insulting her IQ when she found out that her crush harboured feelings for him.

"Not my fault when she couldn't accept Hayato likes my ass better than hers," Atsumu shrugs. Then steals another onigiri. Food is meant to be eaten, not to be kept.

His mother turns around. She chastises, "Not an excuse to be mean towards her."

"Then what was her excuse to call me an attention whore?!" Atsumu snaps back.

"If you could tone yourself down a bit, no one would call you that."

"The heck was that supposed to mean?"

"Be nice. Don't stand out too much. Watch your language. Dye your hair back to black."

'And be submissive' is loud there even though his mother doesn't say them aloud. And it's scary how his mother could articulate those points with a straight face. Like she regards those old-fashioned opinions higher than his life, her son, and that shit is just so, so wrong.

Frustrated, he opens his mouth. Closes it shut. Finds this argument is pointless and wasting his time. No point when his mother values others more than him. Her son. Flesh and blood.

Seething in silent, Atsumu leaves.

...

The onigiri got crushed in his fist, Atsumu discovers on the bus.

A real shame, really.

...

"Dude, you been stinkin' up the class since the morning. Did someone say shit to you 'gain?" Gin rubs his nose, disturbed by the smell, walking up to Atsumu's table at the back.

(Since his impressive height blocks the view, his homeroom teacher said. Hah, it ain't bragging if it's true.)

Atsumu glares at the swaying branches beyond the glass window. Fucking hell that bird, belting out a lovely sound in such this fine weather. That shit is mocking him, ain't it? He grits his teeth, "Ya think?"

The class buzzes around them, it's the lunch break, after all, but most of them avoid his table. He should be going to the cafeteria, it's yakisoba bread day today; yummy and cheap, ey. And yet his appetite vanishes when his mother flits back to his front mind.

"Who was it?" Gin asks.

My mum, he wants to say. But instead, he mumbles, hiding his face in his folded arms on the table, "Just someone."

There are loud squeals from the door, thronged with girls. Atsumu raises a brow, curious. Then a head pokes inside. It's Osamu. Ah, right. Newly presented Alpha. The swooning girls make a path for him. Atsumu swears he can see love emoji in those eyes. Wouldn't it be nice if those pigs rolled out a red carpet for Osamu too?

'Watch your language,' his mother's words echo in his mind. Fucking hell. Atsumu shoves the thought away.

"Can smell ya miles away," Osamu says, strutting up to them.

"Yer class is just next door," he grouses.

Osamu arches his brow, possibly intrigued by Atsumu's tone. Then he turns to Gin, jerking his head to the door. "Gin, the coach wants to see ya. Something about the equipment list or like that? Not sure."

"Well, shit, he did ask about that last week," Gin mutters under his breath and jogs away.

Which then leaves him and Osamu, with some unwanted audience peeking through the window. Atsumu staunchly keeps his gaze on the swaying branches and stupid bird. Osamu fixes him a stare, the long one that Atsumu feels like he's being read thoroughly. Naked. Exposed under Osamu's scrutiny.

"Yakisoba bread?" Osamu asks.

"Don't feel like eatin'."

"They have melon bread too."

"Go away."

"My treat?"

"Piss. Off. 'Samu."

"Mie-mie pudding?"

That has Atsumu paused. Okay, it gains his attention. He glares at Osamu beneath his lashes. "I thought they only sell that on Friday?"

"I have my ways," Osamu smirks.

"Ya sneaky fox."

The smirk on Osamu's face grows broader. "Yes or no? Last offer."

"Fine." Atsumu pulls the similar smirk.

The hallway is filled with students, even the stairs. But once he and Osamu show up, the students part ways as though making a path solely for them. Eyes are on them, judging. Calculating. The whispers meld into one continuous stream. It makes Atsumu's skin crawl.

"It's me," Osamu says, unperturbed.

Atsumu quirks a brow. "What."

"The stares. Whispers. Been like that since morning. Probably because I just presented."

"Ah." Atsumu can understand that. He went through a similar experience after his coming of age. Though, this seems kinder; fewer disgusted glares and less venom spitting from their lips. He remembers that suffocating feeling, cornered by hierarchy pressure, weighed down by judging gazes when he walked through the door. As if he'd done a crime being a male Omega.

Well. It's a good thing Osamu wouldn't have to go through that.

"What happened?" Osamu asks.

"What."

"Yer sour mood. Something happen?"

Suddenly that field far, far away, across the school, seems interesting. Atsumu zeroes in on that instead of meeting Osamu's gaze. "Nothin'."

"Did Macchan say somethin'?"

Macchan, urgh. Suddenly, that playful nickname they bestowed upon their mother sounds so disgusting. Atsumu almost recoils at that but quickly smoothes out his expression. Unfortunately, Osamu has lived long enough to catch even the barest hint. Even so, Osamu is kind enough not to comment on that.

"What did she say?"

"Nothin' much." Atsumu shoves his hands into his pockets, defensive.

"Bullshit." Osamu spits.

"Hey, am tryin' to be nice, okay?" Atsumu snaps, "I'm tryin' not to—I don't know—paint her in a bad light? Cut me some slack," because really, she's still his mother. Whatever argument that causes his relationship with her to become rocky after his coming of age isn't Osamu's business. Osamu doesn't need this madness.

Osamu is quiet at first. Then hums, "She cares 'bout you."

Yeah, right. That's why Atsumu doesn't want to involve Osamu in this. He still has a soft spot for her, and Atsumu hopes it remains that way regardless of the storm inside him stirred by her pointed words. He doesn't want to be responsible for breaking their family apart.

"She cares too much. It's suffocatin'."

"That's Macchan fer ye," Osamu snorts a laugh.

The cafeteria is a battlefield. Hoots, shouts, even pushing elbows, urgh, Atsumu wrinkles his nose. Greedy pigs are everywhere. The sight makes him want to leave, but the promise of Mie-mie pudding keeps him rooted on the spot. Things he'd endure for a cup of Mie-mie pudding.

Funny thing is that Mie-mie pudding isn't even a premium brand. It's just a dessert that reminds Atsumu of halcyon days. Of good times. Of the twinkling stars up in Osamu's eyes when he had his first taste of the pudding years ago. Of 'Samu's gummy smile when he asked Macchan for more pudding.

Good old days. Gool old days.

"And I thought I smelt garbage around," a voice says from behind, "Surprise. It's the worthless Omega."

It brings their heads around, only to see a male Alpha strutting up like a peacock, glasses glinting in the light as he sweeps his fringes off his forehead. Disgust is apparent on his face when his gaze lands on Atsumu.

A coward Alpha, Atsumu's brain supplies, since that dickhead is walking in a pack of four.

"Hello, dickhead," Atsumu says aloud because 'Nagano' is too good a name for an asshole like him. Nope, he doesn't deserve a name at all.

"Miya-kun, why are you hanging out with this trash?" Nagano crosses his arms over his chest.

Osamu keeps a poker face. "Which Miya yer talkin' to?"

"The Alpha one, of course. Why would I bother talking to worthless trash?"

Oh wow. Words. Insults are one thing, but denying the existence is another story. Anger boils under his skin. Atsumu feels his hackle rise, ready to pounce when Osamu beats him into it by saying; "This worthless trash brought our school to Nationals last year and is known as the best high school setter. What did yer so worthy ass do? Wasting the school budget on costly training camp and yet givin' nothing back? Huge achievement there, I see. Congrats."

All were spoken with a straight face, in a bored tone, not even a hint of spiking scent. Osamu remains indifferent like usual, hands tucked in his pockets. Bored gaze. As if he isn't bothered by the taunt. Not worth his time to get baited.

Yet. The reply cuts deep. So fucking deep it could've sliced poor soul into two. So cold it burns. Even the innocent spectators around them give the dickhead pity looks. From his red face, pretty sure that wounded his pride. Atsumu is torn between patting Osamu on the back and laughing like a hyena.

A sharp scent, like manufactured cologne, permeates in the air. The dickhead bares his fangs. "You—"

"Leave before you embarrass yourself further."

The familiar voice. Atsumu glances over his shoulder. It's Omimi-san. "Mimi-san!"

"Quit callin' me that," Omimi-san says, then shoots a glare at the pathetic Alpha, who can't stand in Omimi-san's Alpha presence. It has nothing to do with his Alpha authority, no, Omimi-san doesn't need to rely on it. Not when his face is enough to scare people off. "Scram," he tells.

Nagano bares his fangs in an attempt to restore his honour, but someone grabs his elbow. "C'mon, dude, he's a third-year."

The dickhead leaves after. Atsumu sticks out his tongue at the retreating pack. Hah, ballless pigs.

"Don't be a child," Omimi-san chastises in a good-naturedly way. Like an Alpha scolds a pup, and for once, Atsumu doesn't mind it. Omimi-san does feel like a grown-up, looming over him at 6'. And that face. Yes, that scary face.

"Where's Kita-san?" Osamu looks around. Atsumu finds that odd as well. Omimi-san and Kita-san always come in a pair. He recalls how he mistook them as mates, only to realize that Kita-san had no interest in romance afterwards.

("We're good friends," Kita-san clarified.

"But—but, you two are havin' tea together!!!" Atsumu exclaimed. "At the lawn. Watchin' sunset!! Who the fuck does that?!"

"I wasn't aware that was an act of romance," Kita-san sipped on his tea. His face seemed softer in the sunset, soft gaze and content. Like a flower sat basking in the warm sunlight.

"You weren't aware of anythin'," Omimi-san had a hand over his face. Some strangled words escaped him as he put the cup down on the wooden floor.

"See—hey, 'Samu, back me up a bit—" only to catch Osamu stuffing his face with mochi next to him, "Wow, ya glutton pig."

"Language," Kita-san warned, casually sipping on his tea. Again.)

"Homeroom teacher. Why?" A glance at Osamu's relieved face and he figures it out, "Ah, you want to avoid him," and that caught-redhanded look sells Osamu out.

Atsumu blinks. "Why."

"...he's scary," Osamu mumbles, eyes away. Uncomfortable.

"Alpha afraid of a Beta—that's funny."

"Because he's still a pup in Shinsuke's eyes. Knowing Shinsuke, he'd see you two as pups for the rest of your lives," Omimi-san explains, eyes roaming over the cafeteria to find space to squeeze himself in.

"Wait, how am I still a pup?!" Atsumu protests.

"You are a pup. Gungho-puppy, I'd call you. Where's Suna?"

"He got his phone confiscated—again," Osamu answers, emphasizing on 'again.' Atsumu lost counts how many times Rin got his phone taken away. For some reason, he always got his phone back. That shit never learns his lesson. Osamu asks, "What yer gettin' for lunch? I wonder if they have Katsu sandwich today."

"I think I can grab some fer ye. Atsumu, any request?" Omimi-san offers.

Instantly, a smile breaks across Atsumu's face. "'Samu promised me Mie-mie pudding today!!"

"Oh, I thought they only sell that on Friday—"

Osamu quickly cuts in, "Just tell Obaa-chan I want it, and she'll give it to you. She keeps some specifically for me."

Atsumu snaps his head around, surprised. "Wait, that demon Obaa-chan?! That evil granny, with that messy hair bun? Dude, she freakin' chased me out of the kitchen with her evil broom. How?!"

"Toldja I have my ways," Osamu grins smugly.

...

The pudding is magical, Atsumu thinks. One spoonful of the caramel pudding and he was smiling like an idiot for the entire day. It might have and might have not anything to do the fact it was bought by Osamu, too. Free food never disappoints.

Alright. Okay. He'll buy Osamu something delicious at Family Mart.

The practice runs okay. His sets feel great. His serves are improving too. He can see everyone as clearly as the day, and his ears take in every sound echoing in the gym. The squeaking shoes, the hollers when Aran-kun called for the ball, the heavy impact of the ball when it hits the floor.

It's awesome.

Afterwards, the musky scents of Alphas and Betas mingle in the changing room. At first, it overwhelmed Atsumu as he had just presented. Over time, he catalogues each of their scents and learns to get used to them.

Spices, dry woods, coffee beans, gingerbread, even mint (Rin's Beta scent), and oh, there's a distinct scent of burning wood, the one that Atsumu hasn't quite placed yet which wood type, and he knows this scent belongs to Osamu.

Of all the scents in the room, he likes this the best.

"My internet is so shitty today," Rin taps at his phone screen repeatedly, frustrated, absently closing the locker door, "Can't even watch the tournament."

"What tournament—oh, oh," Gin peeks at the screen, "It's startin' already? Dude, 100 yen, Predator's gonna bag the tournament this year."

"Nay, their carry's play is still sloppy. Relies too much on the support," Akagi-san pitches in, "Watch Luigi play. Learn from him. That guy is no joke. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought he was cheating. Shinsuke, quit scrubbin' that stain!! We'll deal with it tomorrow!"

Aran-kun cranes his neck, hollering up, "Last time I saw, Maria's build managed to contain him—Ether Blast, Daedalus, and oh, that thing, what is it, ah, Eye of Skadi, there, the best combo ever."

"Should've seen how Teddy sealed Purifier last game. That shit was insane. She freakin' dived in, the hp lower than 40%, but goddamn, she got him," Rin grins, amazed.

Really, Atsumu would've caught up with them; the game doesn't interest him much, but it's a good distraction nonetheless. He would've joined the conversation if he wasn't too distracted by Osamu, who is shoving everything into his bag.

"Goin' somewhere?" Atsumu asks.

"Home." Osamu lobs his phone, which Atsumu effortlessly catches in his palms. He checks the phone. It's a text, from their father, demanding Osamu go home immediately.

Atsumu returns the phone back. "Why?"

"Stuff," Osamu answers distractedly.

"But Family Mart..." Atsumu watches as Osamu zips his bag. Well, that was quick.

"What."

"...Pudding," Atsumu says, almost quietly, "Because ya, Mie-mie pudding, so I was thinkin' if I could."

Guilt crosses over Osamu's face. He opens his mouth. Then he worries at his lip. And reluctantly says, "Can I take a rain check? Cuz' Dad—'Tsumu, I—"

"'S cool. We can go another day," Atsumu reassures. The guilt on Osamu's face is painful to watch, anyway. Plus, he can annoy Gin and Rin into buying him Pocky. He's up for some green tea sticks today.

"Yea, another day."

"Another day," Atsumu promises.

Osamu shoulders his bag. "I'll be goin' home first. While yer there, buy us dinner too. Anythin' will do so long as it's easy to reheat. I don't think I'll have time to make dinner tonight."

Well, not something he expects because Osamu has been making them dinner since his love for cooking bloomed but, okay Atsumu can do this simple task. "Okay."

"Cool. See ya at home," and Osamu takes off after offering a garbled goodbye to the rest.

"See ya at home..." his voice trails off, unsure if Osamu hears him as the door is already closed, with a soft thud, taking away the weak sunlight from the room.

Well, Atsumu thinks, another lonely bus ride.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> atsumu is beautiful. breathe if you agree

It's starting to become like a routine now; that lonely bus ride.

It wouldn't have bothered Atsumu as much if it was just mornings. Ever since Osamu came of age, his father keeps demanding for Osamu's presence at home early, hence his abrupt leave after cleaning up the court. 

No more hanging out at Family Mart. No more snacks after practice. No more watching Osamu as he stares out at the endless field, eyes sparkling, fixated by the swaying paddy in the sunset.

Only loneliness.

It's not fun like this. Really, this doesn't sit well with Atsumu.

So, he's set to make some changes. Even if it's going to be difficult at first.

One early morning he wakes to a gentle shake on his shoulder. Atsumu cracks a tired eye open, barely registering his phone's alarm. Disoriented, his sleepy gaze settles on Osamu's face.

"Yer alarm's ringin'. Didja get a class duty or somethin' today? It's early," Osamu says.

Atsumu buries his face in his pillow, brain fogged in haziness. "...no. Stupid alarm."

"No? I'mma shut the alarm, 'kay? I'll wake ya before I leave."

Leave—wait, that. His brain clicks. That was the reason for the stupid alarm. Leaving early, with Osamu specifically. Atsumu instantly grabs Osamu's wrist, glancing an eye at his twin, "No—that—I get up, I, uh—" and pushes himself into sitting, with difficulty. 

Urgh, morning, brain, moving, difficult. Stupid morning.

"Hey," Osamu says.

"Wanna go school," Atsumu rubs the heel of his palm on his eye to chase the sleep away. Not really works. The 4-hours of sleeping isn't just enough for his growing body. "Wanna go school with ye," he finishes, voice thick with sleep.

"Since when ya need a chaperone?"

"Bus," Atsumu says around a huge yawn, "Not fun without ye."

There's a pause. Or it might have not even a pause, Atsumu isn't sure, not when his brain is still hazy and his body demands rest. His eyes feel a tonne each. Heavy. Opening them is a chore, never mind getting out of bed.

"Yer impossible." 

He hears Osamu say, almost inaudible in the ringing alarm. Then his ears are no longer assaulted by the ringing alarm; probably Osamu's doing, and he smells Osamu more than sees him.

That burning scent. So good, it could lull him back to sleep right away. Atsumu drops his head on Osamu's shoulder.

"Sleep some more," Osamu tells him, almost earning him a weak protest from Atsumu. He places a reassuring palm on Atsumu's back. "I'll wake ya after I make breakfast. Pinky promise. C'mon, sleep a bit. Ya slept pretty late last night."

Alright, that's cool. He can work with that. Sleep is cool. Atsumu falls back on the pillow, wrapping his arms around it, and drifts back to sleep.

No.

It ain't cool. 

Not when it only takes Osamu a few seconds to make breakfast, or that's what his short nap feels like. Before he knows it, Atsumu feels his bed dipped, followed by fingers on his arm, almost rubbing in a soothing circle, and Osamu"s voice rouses him from sleep.

"'Tsumu, breakfast is ready."

Atsumu frowns, bringing his head to rest on Osamu's thigh. "...so fast?"

A laugh. Fingers are playing in his hair. “Been thirty minutes, ya shit.”

Okay. Fair enough. Reluctantly, Atsumu wakes up even if his body demands longer rest.

Washing up doesn't take much time, except for his hair. He checks his hair in the mirror. Pulls some strands, only to spot some black roots in the middle. And wrinkles his nose. Re-dying hair is due very soon, then. He wonders if Osamu has started to sport some black roots, too.

Downstairs, Osamu is already on the dining table, wolfing his rice down, with their parents. Hah, his love for food is just on another level. Osamu would even gobble down soggy rice with similar enthusiasm. Food discrimination doesn't exist in Osamu's dictionary, and really, in a way, it's amusing.

"It should've been you waking up early making breakfast. Not Osamu."

Wow, there goes his good mood. Atsumu glares at the newspaper as if his gaze could penetrate it and land on his father instead. Across the table, his mother sips on her tea quietly. Osamu lowers his bowl, chewing slowly as if noticing the changes in the air.

"We all know I'm shit at cooking," Atsumu protests, yanking the chair next to Osamu to sit on it.

"You can learn one or two from Osamu."

"Why would I need to do that when 'Samu can cook just fine?"

"It's the least you could do for your potential mate."

Atsumu tilts his head to the side, confused and extremely annoyed, "Mate? That—wow, I'm just 16."

"You're already 16," his father emphasises, putting down the newspaper like he wants to show who's in charge.

Frankly, Atsumu doesn't think he's in charge at all. Not when his father's presence is barely felt in this house. Only fleeting shadows under the door and voices. Like a ghost, showing up when no one expects him to. Almost like a stranger.

"You're an Omega, Atsumu," his father says.

No shit. As if his heats and those disgusting gazes aren't reminders enough. Cue for an eye-roll.

"If you don't find a potential mate now, who would accept you in the future? Remember, you're sterile. You have nothing to offer to your potential mate. We're concerned about your future."

Pretty sure Atsumu hears pointed insults underneath those concerns. Nothing to offer—what lotta bullshit. Atsumu is tempted to retort how he could overpower most Alphas but holds back his tongue. Knowing them, they'd have preached on how violence isn't a great image for an Omega, on how a proper Omega should be.

"If yer so concerned 'bout me, how 'bout ya leave me the fuck alone?!" Atsumu snaps.

"—Atsumu, language—" his mother interrupts.

His father keeps his stance, "—watch your tone—"

"I wouldn't have been like this if ya could just leave me alone!!"

"Atsumu dear, don't raise your tone—"

"—We should've brought you to the centre the moment you came of age—"

And a loud snap of chopsticks stutters everyone into silence. A pregnant pause in the air. Atsumu can see the broken chopsticks on the table. Osamu's chopsticks—oh. 

It's Osamu. Atsumu sneaks a glance from the corner of his eye as Osamu places his bowl on the table. Quietly, calmly. Then Osamu pushes his chair back and gets to his feet.

With a smile, his face unreadable, Osamu says, “Me and 'Tsumu are goin' first.”

His mother blinks out of the stupor first. “But your rice, Osamu dear—you haven't—”

"Am done," Osamu says, with that same smile, and Atsumu isn't sure if it's meant for breakfast or their morning argument. Osamu brings his bowl to the sink, washes his hands while he's at it. "Just leave the dishes. I'll wash them after school."

"Osamu," his father calls.

"'Tsumu, let's go. We're late for morning practice," Osamu calls over his shoulder, slinging his bag.

For a moment, Atsumu alternates his gaze from the table, filled with delicious food, prepared with much love by Osamu, and his twin in the doorway. He hasn't touched his food and his tummy is growling, but fuck it, his parents just took away all his appetite, so Atsumu tails after Osamu out of the kitchen.

Out of his parents' judging gazes. Out of the heavy atmosphere.

The short walking to the bus station is depressingly quiet. Neither utters a word, Osamu staring ahead while Atsumu loses himself in his shoes. The bus arrives not long after. The seats at the back are vacant, so Osamu claims the spot next to the window and Atsumu follows close.

The ride would've been in total silence as well if Atsumu's stomach didn't growl out. Self-conscious of that ugly sound, Atsumu hugs his bag tighter to his middle. Well, shit. Right, he didn't have a chance to eat breakfast. That just adds fuel to his anger.

"Here."

A paper bag. Atsumu blinks, owlishly. At Osamu's insistence, he takes the paper bag and peeks inside. Instantly, warm puffs hit his cheeks. Inside, there are onigiris. Two onigiris actually. Freshly-made onigiris, if the steam is any indication.

"This…"

"After practice snacks. But ya haven't eaten breakfast. Go on."

"But—"

"Yer stomach is growling."

Okay, point. No point of declining free food, anyway. Atsumu fishes one out, with careful fingers so as not to crush it due to hunger. He takes a large bite of it, feels a savoury taste explode in his mouth, oh, wow, tuna, magnificently, deliciously, before it slides down his throat, and he moans out his happiness.

Osamu's cooking never disappoints. It would've been better if he could have had a taste of the breakfast made by Osamu—that karaage, even miso soup and that radish before everything was ruined by—

He slows down his chewing, lost in the train of thoughts. Osamu notices this. "Tsumu?”

Well, shit. What's with this sudden twist in his gut and this sting in his eyes. Atsumu brings down his gaze to his lap.

“Hey, 'Tsumu?” Osamu tries to peer at his face.

Atsumu shakes his head. Realizes his vision is all watery. Sniffles once. And says around a mouthful of onigiri, "No, it's just—is it a bad wish if I wish they just disappeared?" because really, their presences suffocate him so much that he wants them to disappear from his life forever.

An 'ah…' sound escapes Osamu. He reclines back on the cushioned seat. Then, "They made ya upset. That's a normal thought, I think. Sorry they ruined yer mornin'."

"Why can't they leave me alone? Why must I be the Omega they want?"

"Don't mind them. You be you—I won't have it another way."

"Ya won't?" Atsumu gives him a sidelong glance. Hopeful. At least, Osamu appreciates who he is, not what he is. Something so mundane, and yet significant in Atsumu's life. His chest feels lighter at the revelation.

"It's just too weird if ya suddenly go all timid on me," Osamu grimaces, "A timid, shy giant at 6'? With that face? Ew, gross."

"We both have the same face," Atsumu squints.

"That's the whole point," Osamu raises a brow.

"I'm not sure if I should take it as a compliment or insult."

"How about neither?"

"Jury's out."

Silence falls between them once again. Atsumu doesn't mind it this time since the onigiri steals all his attention. Plus, Osamu always knows how to lift his spirit again. From Osamu's amused but small smile hidden in his palm, supported by the elbow on the window sill, it seems that he opts to enjoy watching him finish the onigiri, and honestly, Atsumu isn't bothered by the gaze. 

Osamu makes the best onigiri, after all.

  
  


…

  
  


Breaking a habit isn't easy. It requires repetition, over and over again, for days, sometimes, weeks, until the body forgets the pattern and develops the new one. As for Atsumu, waking up early is a challenging habit considering his tendency to sleep late at night.

Not to mention, his parents. If this was a game, mornings would be one of the hardest levels to clear.

Nonetheless, the morning bus ride with Osamu is worth it. Granted, he'd end up falling asleep on the bus, cheek pillowing on Osamu's shoulder, but Osamu's smoky scent is enough to soothe his heart.

Until one day, it's no longer enough.

That smoky scent, Atsumu demands more of it.

He wants to have it filled his lungs. He wants to bathe in it. He wants to be surrounded by that scent alone, so, so much that he almost reels when he takes in scents other than Osamu’s.

Worse, they have a practice match with a school whose name Atsumu doesn't bother to learn; scrub sounds good already. A team filled with Alphas and Betas. No sign of a male Omega anywhere. A typical team.

An Alpha with boring spiky black hair, who Akagi helpfully supplies, their rookie middle blocker, smirks at Atsumu from across the court as soon as he takes a whiff of Atsumu's scent. Releases his scent—wow, stink. Like garbage—subtly as to not evoke reactions from the rest, just enough for Atsumu alone.

Ew, ew, Atsumu pinches his nose, ew, what the fuck.

"What's wrong?" Osamu asks.

He could tell Osamu about that annoying Alpha. Atsumu could but chooses to keep to himself. Nothing too serious that warrants Osamu's attention anyway. He can deal with this flea alone. Like a professional volleyball player, where everything will be settled nicely on the court.

A perfectly-planned accidental spike into that smug face seems like a great idea.

  
  


…

  
  
  


They win the practice match. Something Atsumu has foreseen after the first rally. A bunch of scrubs, those guys. Those Alphas were all talk but cowered after witnessing a few effective Rin and Omimi-san's blocks.

(Atsumu swears he heard Rin snicker when the Alpha wing spiker whimpered like a scared puppy after Rin had nearly spiked the ball into his pathetic face. Rin rarely reveals it, but he certainly has his own mean streak, revelling in Alpha's fear caused by him.

Might have or might have not anything to do with the fact that he has an asshole Alpha sister who thinks the world is beneath her.)

A toilet break is very much needed after the match. His body feels warmer than usual, which Atsumu chalks it up to those disgusting scents that kept trying to distract him from the game. Trying is the keyword. He's no scrub, so Atsumu managed just fine.

A splash of cold water doesn't wash away that flush on Atsumu's cheeks. His hair is matted to his forehead. Atsumu frowns in the mirror, upper body supported by the hands resting on the sink.

Urgh, he wonders if he can steal Osamu's Pocari.

Walking out of the restroom, Atsumu checks his Twitter account. Oh, wow, Sekai no Owari is releasing a teaser for their upcoming album. He likes the tweet and goes through the comment section.

"Miya Atsumu, yes?"

The voice has Atsumu snapping his head up, only to have a frown twisting his face as he realizes it's the smug Alpha, with that boring spiky hair. No longer in that bright yellow uniform. Instead, he's in his school jacket, Hakuzasou emblazoned at the back.

Atsumu shoves his phone into his pocket. On high alert. "What 'bout me."

"I'm not looking for trouble. Just saying that I have tremendous respect for you."

Uhm. What. Atsumu blinks, clueless.

"A male Omega receiving the best high and middle school server. Even the best high school setter. I'd say those were amazing. You deserve my utmost respect," he says, with a sheepish grin.

The grin that layers with sincerity, eyes sparkling, coupled with that hand rubbing the nape of his neck, so bright that Atsumu almost thinks this Alpha means well. Almost because urgh, that scent, ew, no.

"Em... thanks?" Atsumu says, his voice wavering, unused to this kind of situation.

"No, no, it's an honour to finally meet you," the Alpha says, "Though we lost, but still. Wow. Thanks!!"

Uhm, what is this, what is this—this is foreign to Atsumu. Questions flood his brain. Ever since he came of age, he's always been treated like dirt. A sexual object by Alphas. But this; seemingly genuine praises and admiration, this is new. He never experiences this, so he has no reference to give a proper response to this situation.

So, his mouth moves on its own accord. "Why yer happy when ya lost?"

That startles the Alpha. Even Atsumu got surprised by his own question. What kind of dumb question is that. Rude, even.

Instead of blowing up, the Alpha laughs. "You've got the point."

"'Tsumu," a voice calls. Atsumu brings his head around, only to see Osamu walking up towards them. Osamu says, "Meeting."

Yea, right. The meeting. "Yea, Am going. Just—" Atsumu is torn between walking away and sparing a glance at the Alpha.

"I'll be leaving too," the Alpha offers a way out. "It was very nice talking to you, Miya-san."

"Oh, yeah, right. Nice talking to ya too," Atsumu says because it's polite. He can be nice if the person deserves it. He watches the Alpha pivot on his heel, thinks for a second, then calls, "Hey, didn't catch yer name yet!"

It has the Alpha paused, glancing over his shoulder, and grinning, "Ishida. Nice to meet you, Miya-san," and he continues walking away.

Once the Alpha is out of the hearing range, Osamu asks, hands shoved in his jacket, "A weird guy."

"A good guy," Atsumu corrects, guiding Osamu back to the court.

"How good?"

"Good enough that I was being nice to him. Quit gettin' all Mama bear on me. I can take care of myself."

Osamu snorts. His scent seems to be growing stronger; a hint of annoyance and defensive. Soon, it envelops the hallway in the burning scent. Geez, a puppy Alpha, that's what Osamu is. One of these days, he'd need emergency candies stashed somewhere close just to appease Osamu.

"Got a text today?" Atsumu prods.

"From whom?"

"Y'know."

"Ah," Osamu scratches the back of his head. "Nope. Guess I can hang out longer today. Wanna drop by somewhere first before goin' home?"

"Family Mart. Am cravin' sweet desserts."

Like ugh, cheesecakes, chocolate mousse, oh, Atsumu thinks he saw that delicious yoghurt the other day, ah, even Pocky, matcha Pocky today, his mouth waters at the thought of having Pocky, and his body is so, so warm, he just wants to curl up in the corner, with Osamu's jacket draped over him so he can get comfortable and those horrible scents are washed away by Osamu's scent—

"My jacket what."

Wide-eyed, Atsumu lifts his gaze up, meeting Osamu's eyes. Colours drain from his face. Crap, did he just say his monologues aloud—shit. He tries to backpedal, "No, nothin', rambling, yea."

Osamu levels him with a look. "I'm not deaf."

Atsumu removes his gaze, unable to look his twin in the eye.

"Why ya need my jacket?"

Atsumu shrugs, rubbing his nose. Uncomfortable. "I'm... not sure? I mean, yer jacket smells good. And yea, I don't know, all the scents are botherin' me. Been like that since morning. Too much, too sharp. My nose can't take it."

"Scents? Even Kita-san's?" Osamu stares.

When he reflects on it, yea, even Kita-san's faint scent, similar to wet ground, seems to be sharper. Instead of wet ground, he smells very much like a swamp. Heady. Heavy. His nose wrinkles at the thought.

"Yea. Why?"

"Well, shit," Osamu grabs him by the wrist and yanks, "We're goin' home now."

"But—but, hey, 'Samu, slow down!!! Why so sudden, hey!!!"

"No. Home, now."

"Why—"

"Yer goin' into heat soon."

Atsumu blinks, clueless. It's like everything slows down after that, time stretched out as the realization settles in; the scents, prickly when there's a slight provocation, even those sweet cravings—they're all his nesting behaviours. Suddenly, everything just makes sense.

"Oh," Atsumu manages.

"Oh, he says," Osamu shakes his head. "Just 'oh.' Unbelievable."'

Okay, not an appropriate response. So Atsumu switches to, "So, uhm, I want yer jacket. Pretty please?" he adds.

That stops Osamu dead in his tracks. Atsumu almost collides into his back, then retreats a foot away from his twin. Osamu has a conflicted expression on his face when he glances back, a mix of frustration and concerns before he slips the jacket off his shoulders, just to toss it to Atsumu's face.

"Ya got it dirty, I'mma make ya do dishes for two months."

The jacket drops into Atsumu's arms—oh, wow, smells so wonderful, that burning scent—and Atsumu grins that broad grin, all teeth and wrinkles in the corner of his eyes. "Gottit."

His face is contorted some more before a sigh escapes Osamu. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Things I'd endure for yer flat ass. Urgh."

"Flat ass—I take offence at that, ya shit!!!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, wow, the rating has gone up. kids, shoo shoo
> 
> yes, idk how to write sexy stuff

Heats are never easy. Atsumu had to learn this in the hard way. Cramps and heightened senses, messy, flashes of hot and cold, even the constant need to be filled by something, anything—they're uncomfortable and painful.

And his nose, urgh, something doesn't feel alright. For some reason, his nest, placed in the corner instead of in bed, compiled with clothes, pillows and beddings, doesn't smell right. Something is off. Among these clothes, something is missing.

He paws at them through watery vision. His body aches. His cock is sore. His slick is dripping down his thighs. He should be resting. He should be getting ready for the next wave. And yet his Omega instincts go haywire, desperate to fix his nest. To make it feel right again.

There's a knock on the door. "Atsumu dear, I bring food and water. Can I come in?"

Macchan. That's Macchan. He gazes at the closed door. If he doesn't respond soon, she'll take it as a sign of not to be disturbed and leave the meal in the hallway. She learned that after she'd walked in on him during the heat last year. It was embarrassing even though it wasn't intentional. Luckily, she never brought that up in any conversation.

Tiredly, he throws the blanket over his naked body and plops onto the pillow, his face first. He calls, "...yeah."

The door clacks open. The light from the hallway spills into the room. He squirms further into his blanket, disturbed by the brightness.

His mother pokes her head inside first. "Atsumu dear?"

He smells her first before seeing her. His mother is a Beta, so her scent is quite faint. When he really focuses on it, it reminds him of swaying clothes hanging on the clothesline in the afternoon. Soft, freshly-washed. Warm. His eyes flutter closed, pleased by it.

"Your lunch. Drink, too." His mother places the tray just outside the nest, careful as not to touch the border, made up of bedding. She sits, the legs folded beneath her. Respectful of his territory. "How are you feeling?"

"...not good," he forces out.

His mother tilts her head. Her ponytail sways to the side. Her glasses gleam in the dark, so he can't read her expression. "Do you need more beddings? Or clothes? Wait, I'll bring a washing basin."

"...no." He grabs her by the wrist before she can move. Fuck, he's exhausted. In dire need of sleep. He wants to sleep, but this, he needs to fix his nest first. He repeats, "No."

"No?"

"No." He pulls her close until she crosses the border. Fuck it, this is Macchan. Macchan is safe. She smells safe. The Omega inside him is touch-starved anyway. He claws at her front sweater, half-draped over her thighs, feeling her wrap her arms around him. "The nest. Not good. The scent."

"I can bring in more clothes."

"No, no," he shakes his head, in despair, "Not warm enough."

"More blankets—"

"No, no. Wood. Burning. Smoky," he manages, words jumbled all over in his mind. Burning wood, Alpha's scent, like, "'Samu. Want 'Samu."

Yes, yes. 'Samu's scent. Needs 'Samu here. He can fix the nest. His scent can make everything safe again. Yes, he needs 'Samu.

He feels his mother tense up in his arms. Then her lips are in his hair as she's holding him close. "Atsumu dear, Osamu's at Granny's."

"Want 'Samu. Safe. Samu's safe."

"No, dear. Osamu is an Alpha. He can't be around you right now."

"Nooo..." he whines, clutching at her back. He needs the safety the Alpha can provide. The nest doesn't smell right without him. It's vulnerable. Cold. "My nest. Not safe. 'Samu's safe. Scent. Warm. Need 'Samu. Please."

"Atsumu—"

"Macchan, please—"

He feels her gasp in his arms. Then she curls around him, slowly, carefully, cradling him like a little pup. She hushes into his wet hair, "Okay, dear. Okay. Everything's going to be okay."

Her words aren't reassuring enough, but there's some hope there. A small one, but that's okay, he can accept that. He can hold onto that. It's anything as long as he can get even a piece of the Alpha in his nest.

...

The burning scent drapes over him, pulling him out of his slumber. He blinks around the dark bedroom, sunlight filtered by the window and drawn curtains. There's a print on his cheek where he fell asleep on the pillow. He works his jaw, rasping out;

"Alpha?"

No reply.

"Alpha?" He tries again, desperate, as he pushes his upper body up. Something slides down his shoulder, and he glances down—

A hoodie. Heady with the burning scent.

Something twists in his gut, shaken by the thought of the Alpha rejecting him. A whimper rips from his parched throat while he smothers his face in the hoodie. No, no, please, no, he needs his Alpha, like now, because everything is too cold, vulnerable. Too scary. Too empty.

He needs, needs, needs—

A deep inhale of the scent brings low heat simmering beneath his skin. Please, please, he needs his Alpha, too empty, too cold, he—

He falls face-first onto the pillow, nose buried in the collar where the scent is the strongest. The fire of arousal burns hotter in his gut, and slick pours down between his legs. He raises his ass high in the air like an offering, clenching his eyes shut so hard that if he did that hard enough, just maybe the Alpha would accept him and touch him.

Touch him reverently. Possessively that the nails dug into his skin. Spreading his cheeks apart, just to expose that hole in the cold air as the slick escaped him. While fingers closed around his hard cock, not to jerk, no, just to keep them there and thumb the dripping slit.

Fuck, fuck. He wants more, please. More, more. Desperately so.

The hand on his cock moves teasingly. Up and down, up and down, at the pace, he loves and hates equally. As much as the friction is delicious, it makes him hungry for more. More from the Alpha, not enough, still too empty, he needs something hot to fill the void inside him, and that finger around his rim, teasing and naughty —

'More?'

"Ple—ah, ah—please."

'Alright.'

—and two fingers slipping inside of him, suddenly, that he gasps out a surprised moan. They fuck him harsh, slow at first before those fingers pick up the pace, deep and quick, not in tandem with the jerking on his cock, and that feels so fucking good that pleasure zings up his spine like electricity, fast, sudden, and yet not enough, not enough, more, more, fingers too wet, too messy, too hot, and that squelching sound so sinful, so delicious—

''Tsumu.'

"Alpha—"

He comes hard onto the sheets his toes curl, head throwing back. Breaths puff around his face like hot air. He sinks back onto the sheets, avoiding the wet patch, nose still buried in the hoodie collar. The pleasure skitters across the base of his spine, pleasant and warm, as he settles from his high.

He cracks a tired eye open. Casts a tired gaze around. Still no Alpha around. Just him and the smoky scent on the hoodie and the incomplete nest.

He sleeps again.

...

It's four days later that Atsumu feels more human and less animal. No more the wanton urge to get fucked 24/7. Clearer thinking process as he's now able to fuck around his phone (wow, chats. Wow, Sekai no Owari. Wow, that movie). And he's good enough to receive a visitor.

Akagi-san drops by with a pocketful of happiness in the form of snacks. Puddings, chips, even ice-cream spills onto the low table from the paper bag. In return, Atsumu serves him hot chocolate drink, stolen from Osamu's stash in the kitchen.

And yes, he brings Akagi-san to the living room instead of his bedroom because, ew, it reeks of hormones still.

They talk about school, volleyball, even about how their coach rhapsodized over his new dog at home while Atsumu stuffs his face with the ice-cream. It's all good until Atsumu finds out Osamu's been causing problems at school.

"What ya mean?" Atsumu blinks.

"I don't know," Akagi sighs, scratching his head, "I mean, it's like we just realized that, oh, shit, Osamu's an Alpha, and yea, this is how Alpha Osamu is like. Like, it was so weird that Osamu was never like this before since his comin' of age."

"What, bein' an asshole Alpha?" he scoffs.

"No, no, he's not bein' an asshole. He doesn't go terrorizin' people and shit. He's just..." Akagi sucks a breath between his teeth, thinking, "More growling and scowling? And yea, Alpha authority. Yep, he does that a lot for no reason."

That has Atsumu thinking. When he reflects on it, Osamu seems like a subdued Alpha. Almost like a Beta if people miss that smoky scent. Never challenges other Alphas. Never flaunts his Alpha authority around. Lowers his gaze when he's met with Kita-san's eyes. Listens to Aran-kun and Oomimi-san. Even respects Akagi-san, who is a Beta.

Quite shocking news learning that that shit has been acting like an asshole Alpha. What the fuck—he's gone like almost a week, and Osamu has become a little shit.

"Well, shit, no wonder Rin's so pissed." Atsumu buries his face in his hands, exasperated. Yep, that's why he got a long-ass essay from Rin.

Akagi raises a brow, sipping on his drink. "Is he."

"Yep, got his messages. He cursed a lot, which I quote, 'that shitty twin of yours, please spank his sorry ass once you get back here. That shit thinks he owns the world, spreading his Alpha authority around. He stinks up the gym, growling at the coach every minute, and for what?! Just 'cuz he's an Alpha?! Fuck him and my sis—' and I'm gonna stop there 'cuz, urgh."

Chuckles escape Akagi. "Pretty sure ya exaggerated shit up."

Busted. Atsumu doesn't look apologetic at all. He shrugs. "Suffice to say, Rin's pissed," which means things are bad because Rin prefers to remain apathetic in any situation, numbed by troubles at home. He wasn't lying when he said that Rin lumped 'Samu and his shitty sister in a sentence. That shit spells dangerous.

"Can't deny it's bad, though," Akagi agrees. He drums his fingers on the table. "Shinsuke has to keep him on the leash so that Osamu can't lash out. It's a good thin' he's not stupid enough to challenge Shinsuke. I can't imagine if that happened."

That small smile on Akagi-san's face is a telltale enough. The glitter in his eyes. Even the tremble in his voice. Atsumu shoves another spoonful of ice-cream into his mouth.

"I can imagine." He points the spoon at Akagi-san. "I imagine ye'd be the first one who kept Kita-san in the safe distance before Aran-kun, and Mimi-san dogpiled on 'Samu just 'cuz he deserved it, and it was fun to do that."

Akagi blinks rapidly, taken aback. Then red spreads across his cheeks as he laughs, "That obvious?"

"Even a blind can see that. Only Kita-san doesn't realize it." Atsumu wrinkles his nose. He stirs his ice-cream around since it starts to melt already. "Just tell him straight in his face. He won't understand unless ya say ya fancy 'im and wanna kiss 'im."

A laugh barks out of Akagi. Then it morphs into longing as he stares out of the sliding door, at the flower bathed in the evening sunlight in the lawn. The colour of the skies reminds Atsumu of ginko. Gold and orange.

"That's the thin'. He wouldn't understand even if I told 'im. Shinsuke's special like that."

Ah. Aromantic, Atsumu thinks he stumbled across that word on the Internet once. A person who experiences little or no romantic attraction to others. He didn't understand the term until he met Kita-san.

"Sorry," Atsumu blurts out.

The smile on Akagi-san's face is shaky, and yet sincere. The little shrug he gives is light, yet weighed down by an invisible burden. A mask to hide the pain inside. "He said he's sorry too, but that's okay."

An apology from Kita-san because he's unable to reciprocate the feeling, hah. That makes Atsumu laugh a little because yeah, that's so Kita-san.

...

Grandmother's place isn't that far. Just takes him 5-minutes by foot. Atsumu even swings by a convenience store to buy Karamucho since his aunt is fond of eating spicy foods. And a lollipop for himself because, damn, the buying impulse is annoying.

It's a one-storey traditional house since his grandmother can no longer climb the stairs. A depressing reminder of her old age, but Atsumu tries not to be bothered by it too much. The lawn has a small pond, a shelter for two Kois, which he finds their presence soothing.

Round and round and round. Like yin yang.

Osamu isn't at home by the time Atsumu arrives, but that's okay. He finds Granny and his aunt in the kitchen over warm teas and rice crackers, prepared by Granny. He places the plastic bag on the table, only to have it pawed by his aunt.

"Karamucho!!!" she squeals once she found the snack. Her boobs jiggle, and that tank top doesn't leave much to the imagination, cleavage covered by her long, wavy hair. Atsumu focuses his eyes on the chips in her clutch instead.

"No stealin'!! That's for Granny!!!"

"Snacks for Granny are mine. My snacks are mine alone too!!" She holds the spicy chips close to her bosom.

Granny has a small smile on her face. "Have you eaten, dear?"

Atsumu takes a chair and sits on it. He steals some crackers on the plate, happy to see Granny pour some drink for him. He swings his legs under the table. "Yep."

"Where's your mother?"

"Grocery shopping."

"A feast tonight?" his aunt raises a brow, shoving her hand into the chips. "Come to fetch Osamu?"

Atsumu sips on his tea. "Yep."

"Thank goodness," his aunt sighs, reclining on her chair. She munches on the chips noisily. Almost mournful. "I swear to god, that kid has been a real handful lately. Never imagined he could be like that. I thought Osamu was the better twin."

"Hey!! Wasn't too!" Atsumu protests.

"Who almost drowned in the river?" his aunt squints at him.

"The rock was slippery!!!"

"How 'bout almost settin' fire to the shrine?"

"That was 'Samu's idea to play fireworks there."

"The bakery incident?"

Embarrassment paints Atsumu's face red. That bakery incident—a taboo topic that no one should bring it up, and Atsumu blurts out, thumping the table, "I was youn', okay?!"

"Youn' and dumb, sure," she smirks.

Embarrassed, Atsumu turns to his grandmother, who's taking her sweet time to sip on her tea while his aunt laughs like a hyena. He points his finger at his aunt. "Granny, she's bullying me! Scold her!!!"

"Oi, that's rude, pointin' finger," his aunt says.

"Thought I heard voices—oh."

The voice has Atsumu glancing over his shoulder, only to see Osamu in his PE uniform, a bag over his shoulder, standing like a statue in the walkway. With a look that Atsumu can't explain.

Sure, he can understand that surprised look. But the guilty look comes after? Unexplainable. Unwarranted, if he didn't do something stupid behind Atsumu. Pretty sure something at school triggers that look. Maybe Akagi-san didn't actually exaggerate things.

"Mum told me to fetch ya," Atsumu says.

That snaps Osamu out of his stupor. "Well, yeah, okay, I'll, uh, get my things."

Atsumu watches as Osamu pivots on his heel, heading for the bedroom his aunt lends him, gaze lowered like an animal with a tail tucked between his legs. No words are uttered, not even by his aunt, who seems to read the atmosphere and opts to scroll down her phone instead.

"He's been beside himself," Granny says suddenly.

"No shit," his aunt chomps down on a green sour gummy before she pulls it between her teeth, long and longer and longer still, and oh, wow, when did she finish Karamucho? Impressive. "I was this close tyin' him down to the bed."

Oho. Atsumu blinks. "Why?"

His aunt scratches her head. "That kid can't stay still at nights. Keeps pacin' 'round the house. The second night he was here, I caught him at the gate. Never told me what he was doin', though."

Well, that's new. One jarring difference of theirs is that 'Samu prefers not to trouble anyone. Not to say that he's a troublemaker (well, okay, maybe a bit but it's nothing serious, and not the point). It's just that 'Samu made a promise to himself not to be an annoying person like Atsumu.

...wait, that should've been an insult, right.

So this, wow, surprise, surprise.

"You're very dear to him, Atsumu. Too dear," Granny tells him, with a smile Atsumu can't fathom but understands it's genuine, anyway, so it's all good.

"Well, yeah, okay." Atsumu gets to his feet. His hand reaches for the plastic bag, only to have it slapped by his aunt. "What?!"

"My snacks."

"But the lollipop is mine!!"

"What's inside the bag is all mine."

"How—that's so unfair! Granny!!!"

"See if I care," his aunt sticks out her tongue cheekily. "Shoo, shoo. Go see yer twin. Can't have ya goin' home late. Shoo!"

Despite himself, Atsumu acquiesces. Shoved his hands into the pocket, he stalks away.

The room, belonged to his aunt, was built right next to the master bedroom. Beyond the window is an overview of high lands and paddy fields. The floor is covered in tatami. The closet is on the left side, and in the middle is a folded futon while Osamu is in the corner, packing his clothes.

Atsumu slides the door closed behind him. "Akagi-san told me yer bein' an ass at school. What happened?"

That puts a pause to Atsumu's doing for a brief moment before he continues, without meeting Atsumu's eyes. "Don't owe ya an explanation."

"Fair, but Akagi-san? Aran-kun? Kita-san?" Atsumu shoots back, annoyed by Osamu's tone, "Ye even got Rin pissed."

"I ain't livin' to please Rin."

"He lumped ye and his shitty sister together. We both know it was serious if he did that."

"Maybe it was a compliment. We both are Alphas, anyway. Bound to act like an Alpha. Not a bad thin', really."

Atsumu squints at the back of Osamu's head. Perplexed by the answer. As far as he can remember, 'Samu hates asshole Alphas. It hadn't changed even after he presented as one. This—it feels like Osamu hinting at something significant, yet Atsumu can't catch it.

Well. Thinking sucks. So Atsumu yanks Osamu by the back collar—it's rude not to meet his eye contact. "The fuck yer sayin'—"

Just to have it backfired on him as Osamu turns around, catching Atsumu's wrists, and pins him down on the tatami floor, much to Atsumu's surprise. What is this, what is—

Once he manages to take in a close look at Osamu's face, which is cast in shadows, grey eyes glinting in the dark while that smoky scent blankets over them, then only a thought hits him.

Yea, right, 'Samu's an Alpha. Atsumu's heart races. Whether it means anxiety or anticipation, Atsumu isn't sure. Hell, he isn't even sure why he's feeling this either.

Then Osamu moves. And that almost makes Atsumu jolt. Osamu leans down, not quite touching but enough for Atsumu to feel his warm breath along the throat. Enough to cause goosebumps erupting across his skin.

Enough to make the Omega in him bare his scent gland.

"Sweet," Osamu says.

"What."

"Yer scent. Too sweet." And Osamu rolls off of Atsumu. He sits up, legs folded up to his chest, looking up at the ceiling. "Ya shouldn't be walkin' around with that much sweetness in yer scent. Dangerous."

"Can take care of myself, ye ass," Atsumu kicks Osamu's left hip.

"I know ya can. It's just—"

When he sees Osamu's head hanging between his knees, massaging his forehead, Atsumu knows it must be something Osamu can't say aloud. Not yet, anyway. 'Samu's an Alpha--there's things that he's reluctant to share, and Atsumu can respect that.

Still, this silence is unbearable. So Atsumu breaks it with a, "I washed yer jackets."

Osamu quirks a brow at him. "Oh... thanks? I guess?"

"Nah, they weren't dirty anyway," Atsumu says, even though it's a lie, because the last time he checked, the jackets were... well, 'Samu should stay none the wiser.

Scrutiny from Osamu. Atsumu suddenly feels self-conscious, eyes away not to meet Osamu's scrutiny. Then, "Ya liar."

That sudden urge of defensiveness springs out, and Atsumu finds himself arguing, "They were my nest! My nest!! Which I spent most of my heat in that nest!!"

"Two jackets," Osamu reminds him.

"Not my fault that yer scent just sorts of vanished after three days!!! Wait, that should be yer fault!"

"How was it my fault?"

"It was yer scent, so it was yer fault!!!"

"Wow, what a smart way to shift the blame," Osamu's words drip sarcasm. "Well, since ya made full use of my jackets, think I should be takin' my payment now."

"What payment—"

Before Atsumu can finish his sentence, the world around him spins before he finds himself seated between Osamu's legs, his back against Osamu's chest, with Osamu's arms around his middle. Panicked, Atsumu grabs Osamu's hand.

"'Samu?"

"My payment."

"What ye—hey, hey, what yer doin'? 'Samu?" Atsumu asks, alarmed when he feels Osamu's breath on the nape of his neck, close to the scent gland.

"Relax," Osamu reassures.

Then. No longer warm breaths on his scent gland. Instead, there's a weight on his left shoulder as Osamu tucks his face in his shoulder. Oh, wow, relief suffuses Atsumu's chest, cool, and pleasant.

Yea, this they can do. 

Atsumu relaxes in Osamu's arms, one hand reaching back to run his fingers through Osamu's hair. For a quiet moment they settle in the companionable silence, with their scents draped over them like a shelter. They're facing the window, so Atsumu can see the sun setting low on the horizon, disappearing behind the mountain range.

Yea, they should do this more often.

"Ya okay?"

"Yea," Osamu mumbles into Atsumu's shirt, "It's just unfair how ya got the fill of my scent while I'm here deprived of yers."

"Oh?"

A beat of pause. Osamu's fingers dig into Atsumu's shirt. "It was hard... not to have yer scent around."

It's slow, that realization dawns on him. It's a slow process, but okay, Atsumu finally connects the dots together. Osamu's mood swings—they were caused by the lack of his scent to calm Osamu down.

Just like how he found comfort in Osamu's scent during his heat, Osamu sought his scent as well to keep him grounded. It makes sense considering they're twins. Not a perfect explanation, but he doesn't need any other reason.

It is just how it is.

Atsumu smiles, melting into Osamu's arms. "Yeah, okay, take yer fill. Just one thing, though."

"What is it?"

"Peace offerin' for Rin. A box of Chuupet." Hopefully, that can tone down Rin's wrath. He ain't as scary as Kita-san, but it leaves a bitter taste on his tongue nonetheless.

"...okay? Lend me yer money?" Osamu rubs his nose on Atsumu's shoulder. Sniffles once.

"Yer on yer own, ya shitty Alpha."

"...well, shit."

Atsumu laughs, his shoulders quaking with delight.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> had time to update because got medical leave. short one, am sorry
> 
> wisdom tooth extraction was painful

It's funny—no, scratch that. It's fucking hilarious watching 'Samu endure Rin's glare. Like a kid expected to be scolded after sticking his hand in the cookie jar. Better than Mansai jokes. It's even hilarious when Rin chooses to be a dick and stands there, with judging eyes, despite the whispering in the class.

Pretty sure the guy's having a blast inside behind that straight face. Atsumu is having a hard time stifling his laugh, watching everything from the door. Gin keeps trying to yank him to hide, but fuck no, it's better to let Osamu know that he's enjoying this.

Something to do with rubbing salt into the wound, people say.

"You think you could buy me with food?" Rin tips his head to the side.

Osamu keeps his eyes lowered. "No. Just a peace offerin'."

"For what."

"I... was an ass?"

Rin squints. "Asshole Alpha, you mean?"

"...yes, that."

A sigh escapes Rin. A momentary silence before Rin speaks again. "I have so much on my plate at home, and you just—" At that, Osamu almost flinches, much to Atsumu's amusement, "Never mind that. Chuupet alone ain't gonna get you any where, but hey."

A smirk stretches across Rin's lips, and Atsumu knows so damn well it means troubles. The one that almost got them suspended last year, the one that had them cleaning the school toilet for a month.

"You got me a video of Kita-san laughing, and I'll put everything behind us," Rin says.

"DUDE—" Gin shouts from the corridor, poking his head inside, almost pale, "THAT'S THE WORST PUNISHMENT!!!" while Atsumu bursts out laughing like a hyena, almost choking on his own breath. "Atsumu, quit laughin'! This is an emergency!!!"

"I can't—" Atsumu wheezes laughing, "—Rin, send me a copy too!!!"

Rin gives a money sign while Gin elbows Atsumu's side, "ZIP IT!!!"

"That shit is impossible," Osamu grits out, exasperated.

"Beggars can't be choosers." Rin arches a brow.

Osamu glares. Then, "Chuupet. Two boxes."

Rin isn't deterred. "Video."

"Three."

"Video."

"Three boxes and a pudding."

"Video."

"With a bento."

"Deal," Rin decides suddenly, much to everyone's surprise. He recites, "Three boxes of Chuupet, a premium pudding and a bento. I expect them on my desk this Thursday."

"Wow, greedy fuck," Gin mutters, amazed.

Atsumu leans over Gin, protesting, while ignoring the fact that students around him are bothered by his yelling, "Can't be bought by food, my ass!!! I want the video!!!"

"Don't push yer luck!!!" Osamu shouts, annoyed, "No pudding for ya just 'cuz ya make everythin' worse!!"

"How the heck my pudding got involved in this?!!"

"Bad Atsumu," Rin tut-tuts as if he hadn't just triggered everything. He slides open his phone, "Oh, look, it's a text from Kita-san," and that alone makes Atsumu and Gin yelp, before he says, "Oh, look, I lied."

"YER THE FUCKING WORST—"

...

The rest of the evening witnesses Osamu apologizing to the upperclassmen. One by one, Aran-kun, Oomimi-san, Akagi-san, even towards Kita-san, who Osamu spends a longer time compared to the other three to bow considering how Kita-san had to stop him from lashing out at everyone.

(Rin might have or might not have them recorded on his phone. Atsumu can't be sure. That little shit is as sneaky as a fox. Probably because he looks like Inari god.)

After the apology session, it's like the world has been righted again. No more tension in the air, no frightened freshmen, not even glares from Rin as they settle back into the usual routine. There's a telltale of stress from Osamu's sluggish movements during the warm-up, but that's okay. That's to be expected.

(Something to do with Alphas not being the type to apologize. Atsumu snorts at that.)

"Hey," Atsumu calls Osamu, ready for the serving practice.

Osamu pauses midway to the net. "What."

He points. "Don't be a scrub."

Osamu, that shit, doesn't even blink, used to it. "Oh, fuck off."

An hour into the practice, during the five-minutes break, Kita-san calls him to the sideline. Yikes, did Kita-san notice him somehow? He swears to god, he just slacked off like what, five minutes because hey, jump floaters ain't easy to master, okay?

"Yep?" Atsumu jogs over, wiping his sweat with his shirt.

"Osamu," Kita-san keeps his eyes on Osamu, who seems to attempt at running away from Rin's serve. Oomimi's shout echoes across the court, 'Suna, Osamu, quit playin' around! Gin, why ain't ya stoppin' 'em?!' and Gin's whine, 'How the heck I got involved in this?!' while Akagi-san is laughing his ass off. Kita-san asks, "What happened to 'im last week?"

"'Samu...ah, that shit bein' an asshole Alpha?" Atsumu recalls, amused, "He couldn't handle shit not havin' my scent 'round. He's a scrub like that."

"He never had that problem before presenting, though?" Kita-san skims over the file he's holding. Atsumu ponders if the file has some kind of intelligence information like those things in spy movies. Oh, maybe it's a dinner plan?!

"Not sure myself," Atsumu shrugs, "Heard Alphas have heightened smell or somethin'. He never talks about it, too."

"That's somethin' I can relate, actually," Aran-kun butts in. Then shoves a bottle to Atsumu's chest. "Drink this."

"How so?" Kita-san stares.

"Before presenting, I couldn't smell shit. But after that, it felt like I got bombarded by scents. Like I could smell ya even before ya got into the class; things like that. Information overloaded; they say."

"That explained why yer so grumpy the first few weeks after ya got presented," Atsumu chuckles, remembering how Gin and Suna scurried away from Aran-kun's vicinity last year, wary of his presence.

"In my defense, I couldn't control it. Osamu was lucky he rode his first rut in the facility," Aran-kun pouts, "Heard 'em teach young Alphas how to tone down their heightened senses."

"Why would Alphas need heightened senses, though? We ain't livin' in the past," Kita-san asks, bewildered.

"It's somethin' to do with looking for the right mate—or so I heard. I don't know why, either," Aran-kun says, "Either way, it's both a curse and blessing. At least, I get to know if someone's pissed or in danger."

"Yep, like when Rin's super pissed, his scent got so thick like someone just puts wasabi over my face," Atsumu agrees, scrunching his nose in disgust. Wasabi, ew.

"Omegas have heightened sense of smell too?" Kita-san turns to Atsumu.

Atsumu mulls over this. "Yeah... and no? Not as sharp as Osamu, I think? I can't really tell yer scent if yer so far away."

Kita-san writes something in his file. "That's new. They never teach this in the class."

"Because it's more for mating purpose? Not something the school wants us to learn, really," Aran-kun snickers, crouching down to fix his shoelaces. "Bonus info; some Alphas can pick Omega's scent up till a mile away."

"Oh, really?" Atsumu raises his brow. "That's so... annoying? Intrusive? Ah, right, stalkerish. That's the right word."

Kita-san hums, thinking. Then says, "This can happen again in the future, especially when Osamu has to be away from you for some time. We need a countermeasure."

"No worries, no worries, I've got this," Atsumu smirks, proud, chest-puffing out like a peacock, "I'll lend 'im my shirt or somethin'. 'Cuz I'm an angel like that."

"Please don't taint their purity like that. It's unbecomin'." Aran-kun gives him a look while Kita-san just stares like Atsumu grows two heads.

Oh wow, that's an insult, right.

...

Osamu's immense love for foods is the understatement of the year. He'd appreciate them regardless of the taste and type. Atsumu hasn't found a food he wouldn't eat except if it was spoiled. Even then, Osamu would mourn for days and nights.

("A waste, 'Tsumu, totally a waste!!" Osamu thumped the dining table, frustrated.

Atsumu didn't faze, shoving a spoonful of Osamu's pudding into his mouth, used to this shit. He bumped the fridge door closed with his shoulder. "Coulda a stomach ache if ya ate that, anyway."

"Coulda eaten it like, yesterday, but I didn't!!!" Osamu lamented.

And like any other good twin, Atsumu wouldn't deny that because it was fun rubbing salt into the wound. He smiled that angelic smile. "Yep, ya didn't. A waste, really."

"I know right—quit stealin' my pudding, ya shit!!!"

"Eeeep.")

From that blooms his love for cooking. The care he puts in each recipe, ingredients, even the method, Osamu looks into it and perfects the skill until it hits his tongue just right. Those who get the taste of Osamu's cooking should be considered as lucky.

It's one of the rare mornings where their father is away working overnight and, their mother takes her time to get ready. Atsumu jumps down the stairs and finds Osamu at the kitchen counter, making a bento.

Atsumu cranes his neck, peeking over Osamu's shoulder at the bento. It's a box full of chicken and tamagoyaki. Atsumu's mouth waters. "Whose bento?"

"Rin's."

"Whaaaaat?!" Atsumu whines. "Unfair. Why he got one?!"

It's unfair, unfair, and unfair. Why that little shit got a bento made by Osamu when he didn't get any? 'Samu's priority should be him, not that sneaky fox. He's the other twin, not Rin. Can't have someone else getting what's supposed to be his.

Osamu isn't perturbed by his shrill. "Promised 'im a bento. Made yers too."

"Where?"

"There." Osamu jerks his chin at three bento on the dining table, freshly made if the rice steam is any indication. "The blue one's yers."

Excited, Atsumu's eyes take in his bento hungrily; it's a hamburger steak bento, complete with grilled corn, and the meat looks so juicy, so delicious, combined with that beautiful sheen of fat across the corn, and oh that, warm rice, wow, wow, can he eat them now?

"Nope, it's for lunch, dipshit," Osamu glares.

Uh, did he say his thoughts aloud—again? Never mind. Atsumu pouts, "Am hungry."

"I made breakfast." Osamu reaches over among the dishes to find the lids.

True enough, Atsumu's brain finally registers a complete traditional Japanese breakfast on the table. Salmon paired with miso soup and warm rice—a simple meal and yet the finest one. Atsumu slides into a chair, his back to Osamu, and claps his hands together; "Thanks for the meal!"

One slurp of the warm soup has Atsumu squealing, tongue blessed with a divine taste, rich with flavour. "Yer cooking's always the best!!"

"Flattering gets ya nowhere."

"Yeah?" Atsumu smirks cheekily, with the chopsticks between his teeth, glancing over his shoulder, "Make me more food? Pretty please?"

A pause. Then, "...If I've got time."

Hah. There's no need to read 'Samu face when Atsumu can hear the smile in his voice just fine.

Until their mother joins them at the table, in a boring office outfit—again—and the atmosphere turns icy cold after a single word from her, "Bento?"

"Yea," Osamu keeps a calm voice as if this is just another morning, "Made yers too. Kaarage, if it's okay."

"Yes, yes, it's okay. Thank you, dear Osamu. Atsumu dear, why didn't you help your brother? Seems like a lot to do," she says, pulling a chair.

"Afraid if I'm gonna burn water or somethin'," Atsumu chomps down on his rice, defensive somehow.

His mother tut-tuts under her breath. She frowns disapprovingly, "It was a harmless question, dear."

Atsumu opens his mouth. Clamps it shut because damn, yes, she was right; it was a harmless question, not pointed one, and yet he can't help this simmering fury beneath his skin. Atsumu glares at his food instead, "Yeah, sorry, shouldn't have done that."

A sigh escapes his mother. She takes her chopsticks and says, "Come, Osamu dear. Let's eat together."

"Right," Osamu takes off his apron. He washes his hands then sits down next to Atsumu.

"I saw your shoes, Atsumu dear. Should you be getting a new pair?"

That has Atsumu thinking. He isn't sure if his shoes are getting worn out. Sure, it can be a little tight at times, when he really pays attention to it, but it's nothing that he can't manage. "Maybe? Didn't notice."

"Osamu dear?" she turns to Osamu.

"Yeah, sure," Osamu agrees, "Think we could do some shoppin' this weekend?"

"Oh, oh, we can ask Nori-jii if he's got some promotions up," Atsumu suggests, eyes twinkling, excited, "I'm so whipped for those dark blue accents. But urgh, did you see the white ones? So cool!! 'Samu, I can't decide which one to choose!"

"Choose the cheaper ones," Osamu stuffs his face with rice.

"Yer cheapskate—"

"Pick the ones you're comfortable with, not the stylish ones," his mother tells him.

"What if they're ugly?" Atsumu pouts.

"Then ugly it is."

"Whaaaat." Atsumu whines.

His mother isn't deterred by the high-pitched voice, resuming to eat calmly. "I'll have a company dinner this weekend, so I won't be able to go with you. Osamu dear, please watch your brother and make sure he doesn't make a poor decision. I'll transfer the money to you this Friday."

"Sure." Osamu bows his head, not quite a nod, but affirmative enough.

"Wait, wait, wait!!! Why 'Samu got the money?! I'm the elder twin!!" Atsumu protests.

"Maturity ain't measured by the time yer born," Osamu, that sneaky fox, smirks, "Onii-chan."

That 'Onii-chan', that smirk, that statement—they're meant to provoke him, right. That's a provocation, right? That's—

Atsumu thumps the table, "Ya shit—" only to be stopped by his mother's disapproving glare.

...it's a good morning, nevertheless.


	7. Chapter 7

Since it's the weekend, the bus is thronged with people by the time they get on it. No seats available, so Atsumu and Osamu stand in the middle, holding onto the rail to balance themselves. Atsumu scrolls down the Twitter timeline while Osamu goes through a recipe he found online yesterday.

By the look of the website he's browsing, it seems like seafood this time. 

Atsumu remembers that one chilly night where Osamu made shabu-shabu for dinner. He watched as the lobster boiled beautifully in the clear broth soup, with nori floating about, and that sweet-sour smell from the sesame seed sauce.

Remembers the way the sparkles in their parents' eyes when Osamu opened the lid and revealed the warm puffs. Recalls the way Osamu broke into a broad satisfied grin when Atsumu slurped the soup noisily.

His heart warms at the memory of a time where everything was fine, of days before his coming of age. Before he became an Omega—

He drops his gaze to his shoes. Something heavy sits in his belly. There's a lump in his throat that he can't swallow no matter how hard he tries. Everything is silent around him, too quiet, and all he can feel is the rumbling engine beneath his feet, and he tries to focus on that because if he doesn't, this feeling is going to drown him, the memories, the slurs, the pain—

A touch on his upper arm and an "'Tsumu?" snaps him out of it. Atsumu lifts his eyes, only to clash with Osamu's concerned gaze.

"Ya okay?" Osamu asks. Softly, "Yer scent changed. Spirallin'."

"Ah," Atsumu realizes. He looks away. Then says, "Nothin'. Just thinkin'."

"'bout?"

"Shoes."

Osamu stares. Atsumu knows he doesn't buy it. Can see past his bullshit, but bless Osamu, he doesn't make any remarks about it. Instead, he returns to his reading and asks, "Udon fer dinner?"

Atsumu hums, thinking. The bus slows down to a halt. It shifts his balance, and Atsumu grabs Osamu's arm for support. Then steadies himself while Osamu loops an arm around his waist. He looks outside; the sky is so bright blue that it almost hurts his eyes. There are traces of the spring littered on the colorful shirts people are wearing.

"Ain't it too warm fer udon?"

"No one can decide on how and when we eat udon. We can eat udon just 'cus we wanna eat udon," Osamu scoffs.

"Just like how crepes ain't only fer girls?" Atsumu snickers. Nothing to do with the topic, but hey, it's fun to rile Osamu up a little.

And yep, he bites onto it. Hard. "Don't put foods into gender-based categories. It's insultin'," Osamu wrinkles his nose.

Osamu's pet peeve, the topic. Really. Osamu almost got suspended when an asshole Beta insisted that salad for girls and Osamu kicked a tooth out of him. Luckily, Kita-san came to rescue. In return, Osamu had to join some volunteering services for two months while Atsumu cackled his heart.

"Aye aye," Atsumu salutes, amused. "And yea, udon is cool."

It's their stop. Atsumu toddles after the kids and jumps down the stairs just because he can—yay to long legs, ey! Osamu trots down not long after, with hands in his pockets. Here out in open space, Atsumu revels in his freedom to move around.

Some throw disgusted glances at him once they catch a whiff of his scent, and Atsumu rolls his eyes at them, with a smirk. Like a statement—aha, yes, a flamboyant male Omega here, with dyed hair and a smug smirk, surprise motherfucker!!! As if he's going to duck his head just because they give him a look.

The store they frequent is located down the street, just next to the gadget store. They've been regulars since their first volleyball workshop, introduced by their mother. Atsumu likes the store owner; Nori-jii, he calls the old man. A cool old man who desperately needs to upgrade his glasses. Atsumu swears the man is as blind as a bat.

He enters the store like he owns the place, with a booming voice of "Nori-jii, howdy?!!" A dramatic entrance; something he lives for, unbothered by the fact that he annoys some customers in the store. While Osamu falls into step behind him, with a quiet mutter of "'Sup," and a polite nod to Makino-san at the women section.

"Always so loud," Nori-jii grumbles, his pair of round, thick glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he taps his pen on the cashier counter.

"Ya love th'loud me~" Atsumu sing-songs happily, "Got any offer fer the awesome me?"

"New shoes at the back," Nori-jii doesn't even blink at Atsumu's self-proclaimed awesomeness. Instead, he tips his head to give Osamu a glance-over. "Heard yer an Alpha now. Congrats."

Osamu moves his gaze to somewhere else. "...thanks."

Atsumu, ever the opportunist, leans his elbow on the cashier counter. He smirks, half-whispering, "Since 'Samu just presented, ought to get some special discounts, eh?"

"In yer dream." Nori-jii slaps the account book closed and keeps it in the bottom drawer. He calls a young Beta at the back, "Fukuda, take care of th'counter," then turns back to the twins, "When's the prelim?"

"In three weeks," Osamu answers.

Nori-jii leads them to the back once the young Beta, with freckled cheeks and a shy smile, takes over the counter. His steps are slow and heavy, strength and agility being eaten away by age. Atsumu's eyes roam over the row of shelves, oh, those blue-pink shoes, like Rainbow ice-cream, and those striking green-neon slippers, wait, when did Makino-san trim her hair?

"Ya two starters?"

"Yep, can't bench the best setter, yea?" Atsumu puffs out his chest, proud.

Nori-jii squints at him. "Yer two are good just 'cus the rest is a buncha scrubs. Ya still can't beat me in shoji."

"Shoji and volleyball are two different things!" Atsumu protests. How can the old man link those two together—ah, old age, Atsumu reminds himself, it must be old age. Respect the elders.

"Beg to differ," Osamu butts in, "It's a strategy game. Volleyball is also the same."

Oh, not 'Samu. That little shit. Atsumu argues, "Isn't, too!!"

"Is, too."

"Nope, nope!!"

"Yes, yes."

"Yer size?" Nori-jii calls from the storage, much to their surprise. When did the old man disappear? For an elder, he's sure quiet. He returns with two boxes of shoes in his arms after the twins say their sizes.

Atsumu opens the box, only to see a pair of black shoes with dark blue accents on the side, so sleek and mysterious, like the darkness of the ocean. Wow, wow, so cool! His eyes sparkle, taken by the color combination. He hops onto the chair to try them on.

Osamu brings his gaze from the shoes in his hold to Atsumu on the chair. Stares into Atsumu's sparkling eyes while Atsumu blinks back at him owlishly. He gives the box back to Nori-jii. "Can I have another color? Don't wanna mix wit' 'Tsumu's."

"What color?"

"Not blue. Not too bright, either."

"Here." Nori-jii beckons Osamu with a jerk of his head. "Makino, watch Atsumu. Wouldn't wanna have 'im jumpin' 'round like monkeys in my store."

"I won't!!" Atsumu yells back, affronted, while Makino-san makes her way to Atsumu, with a little laugh.

Makino-san is a beautiful lady. Pale skin, pink lips, dainty fingers, soft voice and that beauty mark at the corner of her left eye—she's mesmerizing. Atsumu remembers how his breath caught, mesmerized by her beauty, only to have his hope shattered when he found out she was taken.

(He suspects Osamu harboured a crush on her too, from the way he exchanged recipes with her at every visit, but whatever, can't fault him. She's pretty.)

That short hair, though. Atsumu ties the shoelace. He prods, "How's Nana-san doin'?"

The small smile on Makino-san's lips doesn't falter. She says, "We broke up."

Oh. Fuck. "Uhm... sorry?"

"It's okay," she reassures, "Ya okay? With Osamu-kun?"

"We're... okay?" Atsumu blinks.

"That's good ta' know. Keep bein' yerself, yea?" Makino-san tells him.

Ah, the realization dawns on Atsumu. The concerns, right, he appreciates them, but it doesn't really matter. Not to him, anyway. "'Samu might be an Alpha, but he's 'Samu. Issokay. Won't make any difference."

"Yer mom worries."

Cue for an eye-roll. He forgets the old man likes to snoop around. Nori-jii probably learned about Osamu's coming of age from his mother. Hence, the wish. Urgh. Atsumu springs to his feet, trying the shoes. "We'll be fine. He's 'Samu, and that's all to it. Got no reason to hate 'im just 'cuz he became an Alpha. Mum worries too much."

The smile on Makino-san doesn't change, and yet it feels shifted. Like suddenly it holds secrets behind it. She doesn't press, though. Makino-san asks, "How are the shoes? Comfortable?"

"Super cool," Atsumu grins, hopping a little, then makes a small jog around the chair. "Ey, think I can get another color for the shoelaces. Wanna get the black one, so y'know," Atsumu checks his shoes in the mirror. Dang, he looks good. "The blue accents pop."

"Another price," Makino-san says as if she can read Atsumu's intention.

"What, we're gettin' two pairs, Makino-san," Atsumu whines, "That's like—expensive. Pretty please?"

"No can't do," Makino-san shakes her head, with that little smile.

"Stingy~" Atsumu pouts.

"I thought I heard a familiar voice," says someone, and Atsumu brings his gaze to the front door. Spiky black hair, with a faint scent of... metal, Atsumu identifies, before his eyes land on the face.

Oh, it's the middle block rookie from... the scrub team. (Okay, he sucks at memorizing people. Sue him.)

"Ah," Atsumu pauses, "Mashida!"

"It's Ishida, Miya-san. Appreciate the effort, though," the guy smiles.

"Right, Ishida, right on the tip of my tongue, really," Atsumu tries but from that smile, seems like he doesn't believe him. Never mind that. Not his fault the guy didn't leave any remarkable impression on him. Scrubs stay in the scrub folder.

"Sure, Miya-san. Oh, those shoes. Been looking for them," the scrub's—wait, no, it's Ishida now, Atsumu reminds himself—Ishida's eyes are drawn to Atsumu's shoes. Then he turns to Makino-san. "Are they still available?"

"Lemme check first," Makino-san says.

Ishida nods. "Thank you."

"So... tell me," Atsumu folds his arms over his chest, with a raised brow and a serious tone. The one that means business, and earns him a confused look from Ishida. He says, "It's the blue accents, right?"

Ishida blinks. Then his face breaks into an amused smile. "Not really, actually. Happens to be my friend's favorite design."

"Wait, what. Yer buyin' for yer friend?"

"Yep, his birthday is coming up."

"Just a friend? Ain't ya so generous. These ain't exactly cheap. Brand new, just released." Atsumu gives him a teasing smirk, dropping back to the chair and untying the shoelaces.

Ishida doesn't fall for it. He tips his head a little, with that same smile. "They're a cool gift for a cool guy like him."

"Cool gift. That's one way to say it." Atsumu snorts a laugh.

"Last time I saw you, you always had your twin tagged along. Always come in a pair, they say," Ishida switches the topic, looking around, "Don't see him around today."

"He's at the back with Nori-jii. That shit always takes his sweet time to decide on things. Like how he can't decide what to eat or what to cook," Atsumu grumbles, putting on his shoes back. 

Ishida laughs. "I don't think anyone can decide what to eat when they're given many choices in front of them. It's a legit concern. Speaking of, your twin is a scary spiker. Nishimura's arms still got some bruises from his nasty spikes."

A sense of pride blooms in Atsumu's chest, warm. Yea, 'Samu is a monster on the court—that, he can agree. But still... "His serving still sucks, tho."

"Still better compared to my team."

"Yer team is full of scrubs. Just a buncha Alphas and Betas. Conservative shits," Atsumu spits out just a second before his brain catches up, and shit, he realizes that was a direct insult. Atsumu pulls a shaky, apologetic smile, "I mean, uhm, am not sayin' yer like that—"

"You meant that," Ishida cuts in. No bullshit whatsoever.

"...sorry?" Really, Atsumu has no regret saying it aloud. Just a bit ashamed because he didn't mean to lump Ishida with them. Ishida is cool even though he's an Alpha and his scent isn't to Atsumu's liking.

"Not offended, though. Just, well, I can agree that the hierarchy sucks. I know someone who suffers from these dynamics. Not a pretty sight, really." 

And when Ishida speaks of this, he has this faraway look, eyes away as if he's somewhere out there, not in this store. Atsumu knows he's a jerk—prone to be a jerk at times, so he keeps his lips zipped this time.

"Makin' new friends?"

Osamu's voice has Atsumu turning around. Strange, really—no, not those similar design shoes Osamu picked, with those purple accents, oh, wow, those look good. But the tone. And that frown. And the strong scent comes from Osamu.

As if 'Samu's ready to fight.

"Ah, Miya Osamu-san, right?"

"Who's he?" Osamu turns to Atsumu instead, hands shoved in his pockets. Defensive somehow. Oh wow, did 'Samu just ignore the question. What a jerk.

"Ishida. We played 'im. Haku—whatever the school is."

"Hakuzasou," Ishida gently corrects him.

"Yeah, that." Atsumu rubs his nose. "Pipe down that scent, wouldja. You're stinkin' up th'place."

And now, Atsumu is the one who gets ignored—dude, rude—as Osamu glares at Ishida. "Ah, right. That school. Whatcha doin' here, pickin' fights with 'Tsumu?"

Ishida blinks, perplexed. Osamu keeps on glaring.

Okay, what's with that accusation? Alarmed, Atsumu springs to his feet and grabs Osamu's arm. "Hey, hey, he wasn't—we were talkin', dipshit."

"Talkin', yea, right—I don't remember seein' Alphas talk peacefully with Omegas. Last time I saw, Alphas talked you down," Osamu grits. His smoky scent grows strong, and it draws some unwanted attention. 

"I'm not like that." Ishida backs away, and really, Atsumu understands why. But the real problem is now he doesn't understand why Osamu's being a real jerk right now.

"He's not like tha'—c'mon, 'Samu, he's alright—hey, hey, 'Samu!"

"NO—" Osamu elbows his arm away from Atsumu's hold. "He's an Alpha! He won't play nice—Alphas always pick a fight wit'cha! Buncha assholes, they are!! We've been through this many times!!!"

"Am telling he's not—"

"Maybe he's not doin' it now but sooner or later—"

"Ye don't know that—"

"I. DO. KNOW. THAT!"

The fuck is wrong with 'Samu—they weren't—Ishida hasn't uttered even a word of insults and Osamu dares to throw such a horrible accusation. What the fucking fuck—that's just too much.

Too much. Twin or not, this crosses the fucking line.

"Oh, yea? What I'm seein' right now yer pickin' a fight with 'im!!" Atsumu shouts back, fury bursting out of the seams, "And with me!"

Taken aback, Osamu flinches. "What—am not—no, no, I wasn't—not with ya—wait, 'Tsumu—"

"What! We were talkin' like civilized people, and ya barged in just to say that horrible shit!!! I say yer the asshole one 'ere!!" Atsumu challenges back, with a glare. Who cares if 'Samu is an Alpha and he's an Omega. Who cares if some adults give him the stink eye because he talks back to an Alpha.

Wrong is wrong regardless of the dynamics.

As if something snaps inside of Osamu's brain, his scent thins out, replaced by something so faint, like fire on charcoal on the verge of burning out. 

A sign of guilt. Atsumu hates this scent.

But before Osamu can articulate a word, Atsumu beats him to it. He seethes, "Ya know what—fuck ya and yer stupid accusations. I promised myself I won't hang out with assholes, so am leavin' 'cuz yer bein' a fuckin' an asshole right now."

"Wait, 'Tsumu—"

He can hear Osamu's pleading tone but fuck it, he's too angry to care. Atsumu storms out of the store, uncaring about the prying eyes around him. About the shifty looks, he gains probably due to his thickening Omega scent. About the whispering because he just yelled at an Alpha.

Alpha this, Alpha that, even Omega this and that. Urgh, he's so fucking tired of this shit. He's so tired of dealing with an asshole Osamu.

  
  


...

  
  


The sunset paints the skies cranberry red, with hints of purple and pink between the thin clouds. The park starts to get deserted as people return to their homes. Slumped on the bench, Atsumu stretches his legs out, hands in the jacket pockets, exhausted.

Another vibration in his pocket. Atsumu fishes his phone out, reading Osamu's name on the screen and ignores the call. He yawns loudly, waits for the vibration to stop before checking.

22 missed calls from Osamu. 15 messages from Osamu. A bitter laugh escapes Atsumu. Desperate much, eh.

Whatever. That shit deserves it. Fucking asshole.

His phone vibrates again. Atsumu contemplates rejecting the call instead of ignoring it when he actually reads the ID caller. Uh-huh. It's Aran-kun.

"Yep?" Atsumu answers the call after three rings.

"A shoppin' trip turned to a disaster, eh?" Aran-kun says in place of a greeting, sounding way too amused for Atsumu's liking.

Atsumu pauses, thinking before everything falls into place. He frowns. "That shit told ya?"

"How could he not—he couldn't reach ya!"

"He shoulda left me alone!"

"Ya were gone for two hours."

"'Cuz he was being a little shit!"

"That's why he's sorry."

Atsumu opens his mouth. Bites his bottom lip out of exasperation. Then buries his face in his palm. Fucking hell, this anger is exhausting even if he doesn't do shit. "I hate 'Samu."

"Ya don't mean that," Aran-kun says, one-third fondly, two-third amused.

"I wanna," Atsumu whines. He slides down onto his side, laying down, uncaring if he takes too much space. No one's gonna sit with him, anyway. He's a male Omega, after all; a genetic fault.

"But ya don't."

"I hat'cha."

Aran-kun chuckles. "Ya wish. Now, now, go home. Don't make 'im suffer more. He's got an earful from Kita already."

"Wait, Kita-san knows?" An alarm rings inside Atsumu.

"Yep, he knows—well, I'm with Kita now. Oh, wanna talk with him—yo~ Kita, Atsumu's on the phone—"

Panicked, Atsumu says, "—wait, no, am cool—"

But the voice changes, "Good evenin', Atsumu."

And Atsumu instinctively sits up, spine erect, legs properly positioned as if Kita-san is right there standing in front of him. "Uhm, evening, I guess?"

There's a pause on the other side of the line. Long enough that stirs worry inside Atsumu. Long enough to hear those crows in the distance. Then, "Yer goin' home now?"

"Ah, yes, right now—wait, gotta wait for th'bus, so yeah, in a minute or two—maybe 30 minutes if I already missed the bus—I mean, yeah, am goin' home. Soon."

"I see," Kita-san says, unperturbed by Atsumu's ramble, "Be careful."

This is odd, not getting an earful from Kita-san. Atsumu clenches his heart, swallowing, "Ain't ya gonna, uhm, gimme an earful too? Like 'Samu?"

"Why would I do tha'?" and Atsumu can imagine Kita-san blinking at him, confused.

"I don't know—it's just—am makin' 'Samu worry, and he told ya that, and am still out here, so I thought—"

"He made ya upset," Kita-san says it, as clear as the sky is blue. Like yeah, his anger is justified, regardless of his secondary gender. That a male Omega is allowed to yell at an Alpha when it's needed. That Kita-san is aware of the existence of assholes despite the hierarchy. It brings relief to Atsumu's chest. 

"...thanks," Atsumu blurts out without thinking. And gets red when his brain catches up. What the hell—an unwarranted 'thank-you.' Embarrassed, Atsumu wants to bang his head on the bench even if Kita-san can't see him.

Kita-san doesn't comment on that. Instead, he says, "Just make sure yer home before it gets dark. That's all."

A soft reminder from Kita-san. He can accept that. "Yessir."

  
  


...

  
  
  


When Atsumu gets home, it's to a delicious scent coming from the kitchen. Out of habit, he mutters, "I'm home," under his breath, not expecting a reply, and toes off his shoes. Oh, he thinks, once he spots Osamu's shoes in the cabinet.

Quietly, he tip-toes to the kitchen. True enough, Osamu is chopping the ingredients at the kitchen counter. On the kitchen stove is a pot, filled with water and something delicious—oh, oh, he recognizes this scent; it's tsuyu.

"Dinner?" Atsumu asks.

Osamu's head snaps around, wide-eyed. After a quick glance at Atsumu, Osamu returns to chopping green onions. "Yeah. Tuna donburi, cool?"

Tuna—ah, Atsumu realizes what this is about. He folds his arms over his chest, defensive. "I can't be bought with food, y'know."

"I know," and really, Atsumu can't read the meaning behind Osamu's bored tone. Can't read his expression either when Osamu has his back on him. "It's just dinner. Not a peace offerin'."

Atsumu can't decide whether he should feel insulted or relieved, confused if Osamu's planning to apologize or not. Well, whatever, if 'Samu chose to ignore the elephant in the room, so be it. He's allowed to be bitter a bit longer, then.

"Okay, whatever, tell me when dinner's ready," Atsumu says.

The chopping stops abruptly, followed by a loud clang from the knife as Osamu drops it into the sink haphazardly. That stuns Atsumu a little. He watches as Osamu hangs his head low, hands leaning on the counter. Even Osamu's scent changes a little.

"...fuckin' hell, I suck at this."

"So I've noticed," Atsumu agrees, even if he doesn't know what the fuck Osamu's talking about. He lives to make his twin's life miserable.

"Look," Osamu turns around after lowering the stove heat, "The dinner is a peace offerin'. Or was—I don't know—if you think that ain't enough, maybe I could do something else—"

Atsumu cuts him off, with a judging squint, "Is a simple 'sorry' too hard fer ye?"

"A sorry?" Osamu reiterates. Carefully. As though it's a foreign concept for him.

"Yeah, sorry," Atsumu rolls his eyes, "Just say sorry and admit ye were bein' a fuckin' asshole."

"That's all? A sorry?"

"Yea—unless ya fancy to be on yer knees and beggin' fer my forgiveness. Oh wait, let's add some 'majestic and awesome Atsumu' 'cus I'm awesome like tha'."

"Yer such a drama queen shit," Osamu wrinkles his nose.

"I live to make yer life complicated. Just accept it already."

"Yer statement has been noted from tha' moment you bumped my head on th'table. But the acceptance is still pendin'."

"Been aeon years, dickhead. Get over it."

"The scar on th'back of my head says no."

Atsumu feigns a gasp, "Good grief. Yer keepin' grudges. Mum would be so disappointed in ya."

"Last time I remembered, she made ya sit in th'corner for a day 'cus of that," Osamu smirks.

It's pointless banter, really, no bite behind the words, no harmful intention, either. It's just a little walk down the memory lane, but enough to make the atmosphere light again. Enough to make the kitchen breathable. 

Enough to shift Osamu's scent back to the normal, smoky one. A small victory there, he'd say.

"'Tsumu," Osamu starts to say, with a hint of guilt. He sucks in a breath, then says, "Am sorry. I was an asshole."

There, a simple apology. Atsumu doesn't need more than this. This alone is enough for him. He cracks a smirk, hands on his hips, "Yer lucky the generous Miya Atsumu is ready to forgive ya. Now, where's my dinner?! Am hungry!!!"

But still. That doesn't wipe the troubled look away from Osamu's face.

"What is it?" Atsumu asks.

Osamu runs his tongue over his front teeth, with a frown, "Still leaves a bitter taste in my mouth."

"What."

"The apology. Feel like I should be doin' more than this."

Annoyed when the topic gets dragged on, Atsumu blurts out, "Geez, just make me delicious meals fer one week straight and get fuckin' over it, dipshit. Stop makin' this a big deal."

Osamu blinks. Then, "Just that?"

Well, if Osamu insists, then, "Puddings. Buy me puddings—the premium one."

It takes him a moment. One moment, not too brief but not too long either for that surprised expression melts into something akin to fondness, so smooth as Osamu's face breaks into a small smile, and Atsumu is taken aback, even though he doesn't understand why he's surprised by that.

"Thanks," Osamu says, softly, almost quietly, and Atsumu isn't sure if he's meant to hear that. "One request, tho, if it's okay wit'cha."

Atsumu sniffles and rubs his nose, struggling to keep a straight face after these complicated feelings Osamu's smile caused to him. "What is it."

"Can I—" Osamu hesitates, "Can I hold ya?"

Clueless, Atsumu lands his hand on Osamu's shoulder. "Like this?"

"No, not like—" 

And Osamu moves. Unlike those movies, no, Osamu doesn't move fast. Just sudden, so sudden that as if everything sails into a slow-motion, and Atsumu watches him, wide-eyed, his heart missing a beat, as Osamu pulls him into a firm hug, fingers digging into Atsumu's back shirt, nose buried in the juncture where his shoulder and neck meet.

And holds Atsumu tight. Atsumu's chest feels a little too tight.

In the air, the scents change. Sour from the boiling tsuyu, savory from the green onions, sharp from Osamu's smoky scent, and... wait, a little sweetness, like a peach? Atsumu blinks, surprised, and that brings his heart back to the steady beating.

"'Samu?"

No words at first. Then, "Was worried," Osamu mutters, "Yer scent calms me down."

Right, that. The heat week. Osamu being a little shit. He remembers them all now. With a sigh, Atsumu loops his arms around Osamu, pulls him tight and presses his cheek on the side of Osamu's temple. "I demand Haagen-Dazs fer this."

A chuckle. "Yer greedy fuck."

Atsumu smirks back. "Am an opportunist, ya shit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohh, look who messed up the priority and ended up doing something else than updating this fic
> 
> dat me, making kitsune miya twins fanart. it’s just a simple one, tho
> 
> [miya fanart on twitter 😗](https://twitter.com/_hit0shi/status/1325824371525472257?s=21)


	8. Chapter 8

Everything will be fine, Atsumu likes to think after that fiasco at Nori-jii's store. But life is a dick and tends to work another way. Living in a close-knit community means rumours circulate faster than the wind. On Monday night, Atsumu finds himself getting grounded for a week.

(But, really, that fast? It just happened, like, yesterday. Folks have too much time on their hands that they can't give Atsumu a break at all. Even the tiniest detail of him would be scrutinised. Geez. It's hard to live as a celebrity, huh.)

How dare you shout at an Alpha, his father says.

Please don't use that tone to someone with a higher hierarchy than you, dear, his mother chastises.

Why can't you behave like a proper Omega, they question.

Their preach has Atsumu looking down at his folded knees, but whatever, he chooses and picks what to listen. Surprise—he decides to not listen to them at all.

Osamu tries to interfere. Really. That guilty expression and that rushed speech, even that confession saying he was being an asshole, Atsumu appreciate them all, really. But since their father is so blinded by the dynamics, arguing back, "Just because he's your twin, doesn't make his behaviour right!!" they fall on deaf ears.

(Their mother remains quiet next to their father. Atsumu thinks he catches a glimpse of something in her eyes. But damn, those gleaming glasses...)

"You're grounded for a week," his father decides, storming out of the living room.

A sigh escapes Atsumu. At least his father doesn't take his phone away.

Osamu is a brooding presence behind him when Atsumu returns to their room. Atsumu doesn't mind him, nor does he blame him. Shit happened, and now he's facing the consequences. He's used to this shit, anyway. Atsumu dives into his bed, sighing when his head hits the pillow.

Wow, pillow, so soft he might melt into it. Atsumu slides his eyes closed, exhausted.

There's a slight change of the scent in the air; Osamu's. Of a low burning white-hot charcoal. Faint, but it's there. Enough to make Atsumu crack open an eye. And sees that scrub of a twin stands like a statue in the middle of their room.

With a layer of shadow over his face, eyes ready to kill someone, and that low growl. Yikes, puppy Alpha is mad.

"What issit," Atsumu says.

"They..." Osamu starts to say. Grits his teeth. And shakes his head. "They can't do this to ya. This—no, this ain't right. 'Twas my fault. It shoulda been me."

"Nay, don't waste yer brain cells frettin' over this. I'm used to this." Atsumu rolls over and folds his arms behind his head.

"Imma talk to 'em again." Osamu whirls around.

Wait, what—Atsumu's eyes snap open at that. Panicked, Atsumu throws his pillow at Osamu's head just before he reaches the door. Osamu glares over his shoulder. Atsumu challenges back, "They might ground ya too, ya shit."

"And that's the right thing to do!"

"Don't gimme what is right and wrong!! Everything went to shit already—don't make it fucking worse!!"

"But—"

"It's just grounded," Atsumu huffs indignantly, "Child's play. I can sleep through it." And falls back to the bed, only to realize his pillow is missing, at Osamu's feet. He makes a face. "Oi, gimme my pillow back."

Osamu picks up the pillow. Clutches it tight as he frowns, deep in thoughts. Exasperated, maybe. Then he walks over to the bunk bed, with that pinched look. "I don't like this."

"Don't hafta like it," Atsumu tries to sound casual even though it grates on his nerves. Getting used to this is one thing. Accepting is another. But acknowledging this would hurt Osamu more. The guilt is loud as it is inside Osamu's mind, he doesn't need to amplify it.

Whatever. Atsumu refuses to dwell on this any longer. This twisted feeling in his gut, this frustration isn't pleasant anyway. He snatches his pillow from Osamu's hold, slides it under his head, and rolls over facing the wall. 

Yes, wall, with the hint of yellow and brown discolourations; the sign of the times. In the corner is faint small handprints; pale oranges, pinks, even ah, blues—from the little art session he had with Osamu back then. He remembers he swiped red fingers across Osamu's nose, and Osamu retaliated it with a purple slap on his cheek.

Then their mother caught them red-handed and sent them to the corner, the very spot for his nest for the next few years, where he spent it alone, very painful and lonely, an excruciating experience even if he was surrounded by clothes and beddings, and everything just went downhill from there because people started to change around him, the little shove here and there on the school hallway, those disgusted glances, mean whispers sank into his being like venom, sharp, deep and—

"'Tsumu."

He snaps open his eyes and Atsumu gasps for air as if he just ran a mile, skin clammy and tight over his muscles and bones. He glances over his shoulder, only to see Osamu hovering his hand, not touching but close enough to have the shadow cast over his eyes.

'Samu. It's just 'Samu.

"Yer okay?" Osamu asks.

No—wait, can't have 'Samu worried over him. No, he can't. Never. Even if those voices are screaming inside his head. Even if he can feel those judging eyes on him, watching his every move—

He can't. So he croaks out, "Yea."

The frown on Osamu's face deepens. "Yea?"

He turns away, uneasy. That scrutiny, too close, can strip him bare. Makes him too vulnerable. No, can't be weak. He's an Omega, but he's no scrub. Those ugly, jealous voices can be tuned out if he sings loud enough—wait, how did the pen-pineapple song start again?

"If ya sing that stupid song, Imma smother yer face with yer pillow."

Uh-huh. The monologues—well.

A sigh from behind him is heavy with concerns and guilt. There's a touch on his shoulder. Light and comforting, even though that palm is calloused from countless spiking.

"I wanna try something," Osamu says, "Trust me?"

His eyes snap wide. Trust; why would 'Samu pose that question—he always trusts 'Samu because he's his twin, his lifetime companion, blood and flesh regardless of their fights. It doesn't make any sense—

And fingers graze over his scent gland on the nape of his neck lightly. Suddenly enough to make Atsumu jerk away, hand slapping over the skin, body rolling over and curling up protectively, alarmed eyes on Osamu. 

What, why, this—Atsumu hisses at Osamu.

"You don't trust me?" Osamu blinks.

"That's my scent gland, ya shit!"

"I know. I read pressing the scent gland can calm you down."

"Ya just made it worse, dipshit!!! Ya think I'd let anyone touch the most vulnerable part of mine?!"

Osamu drops his hand. A flash of realization swims across his face, followed by disappointment as he looks away. He clears his throat. "Yea, right, point. Sorry."

That expression, that tone—geez. And Atsumu wonders why people keep saying 'Samu is the mature one. He swears that deadpanned mask manages to fool 'em all. And this; sure Osamu's intention is noble, but this; he can't let Osamu anywhere near his scent gland.

It's too sensitive.... and intimate.

"Go to sleep, 'Samu."

"Got homework to do." Osamu gets up. Walks over to the study table and flops down on the chair.

"Fine. I'mma sleep first," Atsumu says despite still too early for bedtime. He turns away, pulling the blanket up.

"How 'bout yer homework?"

"I'll copy Gin."

"He'll kill ya."

"Not something new."

A heavy sigh. "Think ya can sleep after getting worked up like that?"

"Whose fault was that?"

A pause. "Sorry."

Again, that apology. So done with this guilt. Too annoying. Doesn't sit well with Atsumu. Whatever, he can deal with this tomorrow. He's too exhausted to summon any fury energy.

  
  


...

  
  


So.

He can't sleep. Well, shit.

Osamu was right; he's too worked up to fall asleep. Tossing around doesn't ease his heart. He can hear the ticking wall clock. Can imagine the curtains billowing in the light breeze. Negative thoughts infiltrate his brain now and then. 

Some voices echo in his eardrums; slut, worthless, trash, unruly Omega. Atsumu clenches his eyes shut until blotches of white appear behind his eyelids. Desperate. Frustrated. Gotta do something to drown them out, or he'll be drowned by them instead.

"'Samu?" Atsumu tries, with a little wince, even if he knows the chance of Osamu being awake at this ungodly hour is almost nonexistent. Compared to him, Osamu is an early riser so he can have more time making breakfast. It's to be expected to have 'Samu in a deep sleep right now.

No response. Well, okay.

"...Yea?" A reply comes, much to Atsumu's surprise.

"Yer awake?"

"Can hear ya tossing 'round."

"Oh," Atsumu says, his voice small, "Sorry."

"Can't sleep?"

"Yea."

There's a pause. Then, "Hand?"

Atsumu stares at the bed slats, eyes getting used to the darkness. 'Hand' or actually hand-holding. It's something that they picked up when they were little, holding onto each other because the six-year-old Osamu thought sleep could be transferred from one to another.

That theory was later debunked by Aran-kun.

("Sleep ain't a thing that can be transferred!!" Aran-kun shouted.

"But I get sleepy when 'Tsumu's sleepin'," Osamu pouted around his sandwich. "So we hold hands, duh."

"That's 'cuz Atsumu can't bother ya, so ya don't get all hyped up." And then Aran-kun swivelled around, annoyed, "Atsumu, ya dingus, stop flicking paper balls at me!!!"

Atsumu skipped away before Aran-kun could swipe at him.)

Nonetheless, it's an endearing habit. While both Atsumu and Osamu are aware holding hands wouldn't magically make them sleep, it's nice to know to have the other around in the battle of the sleepless night. Even more so when Atsumu is known to have restless nights after his coming of age.

"Yea," Atsumu agrees after a moment, "Yea. Hand."

A small creak of the bed breaks the silence as Atsumu watches the dip in Osamu's bed shift. Then a hand dangles down from the side of the bed, which Atsumu stares at it at first before he grabs it.

It isn't really ideal, holding hands like this; grabbing onto each other's fingers compared to interlocked fingers. But to Atsumu, this is fine because it's Osamu. 'Samu's fingers. Print. Warmth. Those are reassurance enough.

Then Osamu's thumb rubs on Atsumu's knuckles, soothingly, reassuringly, and Atsumu thinks, yes, this is good enough.

Soon, his shoulder would feel tired and give up. Soon, Osamu would fall asleep, then his grip would loosen. Soon, he'd let go of Osamu's hand. Soon, he'd listen to Osamu's light snoring while he remained wide awake.

But that's 'soon,' and Atsumu doesn't like to think about something hasn't happened. So he keeps holding on and on, focusing on Osamu's thumb to distract himself from the negative thoughts and vicious voices inside his head.

Side to side. Side to side. Almost like a circle.

  
  


...

  
  


(He wonders how it'd have felt to have Osamu's thumb drawing circles on his scent gland.)

  
  


...

  
  


The news of him getting grounded is met with laughter from his teammates. Buncha assholes, they are—Atsumu clicks his tongue, annoyed when Gin's laugh reaches a high-pitched point that he chokes on it. Good to know his miserable life is a source of entertainment for these shitty teammates.

"Quit laughin', ya shit! It ain't funny!!!" Atsumu shouts.

"Yer 16, shit. 16 and grounded!!!" Gin howls with laughter.

"What. Of. It?!" Atsumu furiously throws a ball at Gin. And misses by a large margin. Bounces on the wall and almost hits a frightened freshman.

"Atsumu," Kita-san chastises from the bench. Then proceeds to talk to Aran-kun and Akagi-san.

Fucking dammit.

"Point is no one's getting grounded anymore," Rin snickers evilly. 

"Ya got yer phone confiscated," Atsumu points out.

"You get curfew." Rin raises a challenging brow. With that smirk on.

Atsumu clenches his teeth, feeling himself lose the argument. He turns to Osamu, who's been helping the first-years putting away the poles. "'Samu, gimme a good comeback so I can knock Rin down! Fer good!!"

Clueless, Osamu blinks, armed with the net. "Why wouldja need to attack Rin like tha'?"

"He's bein' a little shit!!"

"Yer talkin' 'bout yerself, pup? I see no one bein' a little shit but ya." Oomimi-san interrupts from behind, eliciting a surprised yelp out of Atsumu. Then he nods when some first-years approaches him with a question.

Atsumu protests, "Am not talkin' 'bout—hey, am not a pup!!!"

"All shoutin' like that—ya do sound like one, Atsumu," Gin cackles, his statement supported by Rin's chuckles.

"What—why is everyone gangin' up on me?!"

"That's the norm, Atsumu," Akagi-san chimes in from afar.

"This issit!! Am quittin' on y'all! We're no longer friends. Adios, folks!!!" Atsumu salutes, feigning heartbroken. He can play the game too. Hah.

"If yer piped down that dramatic flair of yers, no one would tease ya," Aran-kun says on a sigh, hands on his hips.

"If he did tha', he wouldn't be our Atsumu," Kita-san says, eyes on the writing board in his hold as he interrupts the conversation casually. "That bein' said; since ya got so much energy bein' a drama queen, why didn't ya help Osamu and the first-years?"

Atsumu quickly snatches a ball on the floor. "Am helping—see, the ball? Not like Rin and Gin."

"Wait, you shit—" Rin curses, "I was almost invisible—"

"Suna," Kita-san calls. Not a warning, and yet enough to make Rin chill and obey him. Dang, that's so cool; able to make people listen to him regardless of the dynamics. Atsumu's aspired to be like Kita-san one day.

"Right-o." Rin moves into actions, picking up the balls on the floor.

The rest, then, scatters around. The first-years hurry about, cleaning up the gym. Atsumu joins Rin mopping the floor while Akagi-san and Aran-kun wheels the ball cart into the storeroom. Hah as if he's gonna carry those heavy poles. Whatever, Oomimi-san and Aran-kun are strong enough to do it. 

From the corner of his eye, he catches Osamu reading a text on his phone. A dark look clouds over Osamu's face. Huh.

"Gin, d'ya have any request—equipment or anything? I remember we're runnin' out of glucose powder. Akagi and I will drop by the store before heading home," Kita-san waves the writing board at Gin.

Uh-oh. Atsumu's ears pick up on that. A chance! For Akagi-san.

"About that—yea, the coach said we're gonna need—hey," Gin yelps as Atsumu yanks him by the elbow. "What the hell, Atsumu?!"

"Whatever you say," Atsumu whispers. Furiously, "Make sure ya leave 'em alone. Don't ever be the third wheel or I'll hurt ya and yer precious cactus." 

Gin blinks. "What."

"Am helpin' out my precious senpai here, ya shit. Just do it."

"Geez, fine," Gin makes a face, elbowing his arm away from Atsumu, "Just don't touch my cactus."

Satisfied with that response, a smile stretches across Atsumu's lips. Ey, he can imagine Kita-san and Akagi-san walking together towards the sunset, with swaying paddies stretched out across the horizon, bathed in reddish-orange. Akagi-san, being a cheerful person, would crack a cheesy joke, and Kita-san would pull a small smile because he's polite like that. Then it'd become their inside jokes, shared between the two as Kita-san was charmed by Akagi-san—

"Were ya narratin' Nao-ba's BL collections?"

Startled, Atsumu almost breaks the mop into two. He whirls around, only to be greeted with Osamu's unimpressed look. "Quit eavesdroppin' on me, stupid 'Samu!!!"

"Ye were sayin' 'em aloud."

"Was I."

"Ye were." Osamu quirks up a brow. He jerks his chin in the direction of the door. "C'mon. Time to go. Kita-san let us go home early today 'cus of yer curfew."

Yea, right. The curfew. Stupid. Embarrassing shit. Grumbling to himself, Atsumu passes the mope to one of the first-years nearby. He jogs to the door, then turns around, just to announce his leaving to the gym. Kita-san acknowledges it with a wave before he resumes discussing with the coach.

The walking back to the clubroom is quiet, with Osamu trailing behind Atsumu. A glance at Osamu's brows hints Atsumu at his uneasiness. Even his slow pace, feet dragging one after another, reveals as much. Something not fun happened, then. Atsumu squints over his shoulder at him.

"What's wit' tha' look?"

"Nothin'."

"It's the text."

At that, Osamu looks away, hands shoved in his jacket pockets defensively. Bingo.

"He teachin' ya some Alpha stuff again?" Atsumu presses. 

Last time he overheard Osamu's conversation with their father in the study room, it had something to do with Alpha and business. He had no clue why would their father drill those into Osamu's brain, and he had no way to prod either since their father often shut him away. Osamu never inclines to share with him too, so Atsumu doesn't ask.

"He wants ta' see if I can use my Alpha authority," Osamu grumbles.

Hand poised over the doorknob to the clubroom, Atsumu raises a brow. "Why?"

"...'Cus I didn't use it when ya yelled at me the other day."

Oh, wow. A snort escapes Atsumu. "That kinda twisted. Telling yer son ta' use that shit on yer other son. Why am I surprised? Did ya say somethin' back ta' 'im?"

Osamu enters the clubroom after Atsumu, closing the door behind him. He carelessly toes off his shoes. "Told 'im I have no reason to prove him. No doubt he'd be askin' fer it 'gain."

"He at home now?"

"Yea." Osamu yanks open his locker door, annoyed.

Atsumu stares. Hums thoughtfully, chin resting on his fingers. Then suggests, "Wanna hang out at Family Mart 'till Mum comes home?"

Osamu frowns. "Ya got curfew."

"Ya wanna go home now?"

"Yea, no—well, he's gonna ask again anyway—"

"But ya don't wanna see 'im. Or not prepared. Well, same thing."

"'Tsumu, yer grounded," Osamu reminds him.

Atsumu tips his head to the side. "So?"

Wide-eyed, Osamu opens his mouth. Clamps it shut. And heaves a sigh. "He's gonna be furious wit'cha."

"See how many fucks given?" Atsumu spreads his arms wide, with a broad grin, like he's in a programme show or something, "Ta-da~ no fucks given. Thanks very much." Then Atsumu walks over to his own locker. "He couldn't accept that I, an Omega, have a right to challenge ya when ya do me wrong. He's shitty like tha'."

"Well, yeah, I got the same feeling too," Osamu agrees.

Atsumu dives his hand into the locker for his bag. Paws around to check if he's got all the books for homework in the bag. He hums when he finds them all in place as his brain kicks into gear; wonders if Osamu would do that if it happened again. If he really crossed the line as an Omega. If he—

"Wouldn't do that to ya," Osamu says suddenly. "Yer Atsumu. My shitty twin, whether I want it or not. Someone to be listened to, not a doll to dominate over."

Surprised and embarrassed, Atsumu turns to Osamu. "Uhm, uh, did I say 'em aloud—again?"

"Nah," Osamu shoulders his bag, ready to leave. He slaps the locker door shut. "Can smell yer scent. Getting nervous all of a sudden. Thinkin' might 'ave somethin' to do wit' the topic."

Atsumu stares. Mixed sensations spill in his chest. Mortified for getting discovered from a quick sniff at his scent. Relieved because Osamu gave him his words, warmed even because Osamu regards him so highly. Something he's long acknowledged, but sometimes it's nice to be reminded of it again.

But.

"Did ya say am a shitty twin?"

Osamu sighs, "Of all things, that was what ya heard?"

"Answer me—"

"Chop chop, get yer flat ass movin'. Family Mart's awaiting," Osamu is already putting on his shoes. That shit. 

"Wait, ya shit—" Atsumu pushes his locker door closed and jogs over. "Right-o, we've gotta time our timing well. See if we can catch Kita-san on a date." Glee fills Atsumu's tone. Almost mischievously.

Osamu opens the door wide, giving space to Atsumu. "Ah, the thing ya told Gin, issit? Kita-san and Akagi-san, huh. That never crossed my mind, actually."

"No, no. Not yet—" Atsumu presses himself against Osamu's side, almost draped over him as Osamu closes the door. He slings an arm over Osamu's shoulder, whispering, "Ya see. The thing is Akagi-san—"

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let’s see if i can pick up the pace (probably not)
> 
> come talk to me on twitter [@_hit0shi](https://twitter.com/_hit0shi). i don’t bite. just rambling things and draw. need more haikyuu moots because uhm, atsumu is so beautiful and i just wanna appreciate him and love him and cry over him and... im gonna stop here


	9. Chapter 9

The first day of the prelims isn't any different from normal ones; a dome of clouds marches across the bright sky. Chatters fill the crisp air. The stadium is crowded with players and supporters from across the Hyogo Prefectures. Some loiter at the entrance. Some find peace under the stairs.

Inarizaki gets the spot near the changing room on the second floor. Most schools prefer to duck away from their path; maybe something to do with their building reputation as a strong competitor in recent years. Atsumu doesn't mind the fear. Easier to get moving, anyway.

"When's our first match?" Atsumu zips up his bag on the floor before getting back to his feet.

"After Muugen-Houougo match," Gin supplies helpfully, pawing through the medical kit. "Riseki, couldja pass me that list? Gotta double-check the—hey, Suna—"

So he's got some time for a toilet break. Good news. His bladder is screaming at him anyway. He pivots on his heel, hands in his pockets when Kita-san calls him, "Where to?"

"Toilet."

"'right. Don't take too long," Kita-san reminds him.

"Kay."

The quick visit to the toilet, fortunately, doesn't take long even though it's located quite far at the east wing. Not many people around, so Atsumu takes his sweet time to complete his business. No text from his teammates either. Maybe the match takes longer this time. Hands in his pockets, Atsumu makes his way back to his team on the second floor.

"Oh, fancy meeting you here, Atsumu-san!"

The familiar voice has Atsumu glancing over his shoulder. Uh-oh. "Michida!"

"It's Ishida, Atsumu-san," he corrects in a good-naturedly way, with a sheepish grin, walking over to Atsumu.

"A slip of th'tongue," Atsumu snaps his fingers, uncaring if Ishida can see through his lie. From Ishida's laugh, it seems that he doesn't take it to heart.

Ishida's gaze falls to Atsumu's shoes. "Oh, you bought the shoes! They look good on you."

"Well, yeah, 'Samu got 'em fer me." 

It was fortunate Nori-jii kept the shoes for them after the scene they'd caused at his store. Their mother sent Osamu back to pay for those shoes the next weekend while Atsumu was grounded at home. Words had it that Osamu grovelled at Nori-jii's feet for forgiveness, but Atsumu doubted it. That shit is too prideful to do that.

"Oh, Osamu-san," Ishida's tone drops an octave, "I think I owe him an apology."

Atsumu blinks. "Why."

"I made him almost go Alpha on me. And that drove you away from the store," Ishida recalls, "He was panicked when he couldn't find you. I made you two fight. It shouldn't have happened."

His tongue clicks, displeased, and Atsumu scoffs, "Quit bein' dumb. He was th'asshole one. Ya owe 'im nothin'."

"But—"

"Hush. He's my twin. We fight all the time. That shit was nothin', so no, ya owe 'im nothing 'cus he deserved that."

Taken aback, Ishida hangs open his mouth. Closes it shut with a small smile. He sighs, "How are you so steadfast in this even though you're an Omega? Gosh, you're so incredibly amazing, Atsumu-san."

"I don't give a shit 'bout dynamics. Wrong is wrong," Atsumu crosses his arms over his chest, defensive. Then it occurs to him. Atsumu brightens up, "Hey hey, gimme your contacts. We can hang out later!" because Ishida is a cool guy. Not a scrub. Not anymore.

"Sure. Lemme, uh, where's my phone—" Ishida fumbles around his pockets for his phone. "Found it."

After a small reminder from Ishida to not misspell his name, Atsumu skips away with one more contact in his phone. Glances are thrown in his direction as he walks along the hallway, intrigued by his humming, or maybe it's his scent. He remembers Aran-kun often mentions his scent changing to airy whenever he's in a good mood. Atsumu never probes how it smells like, though.

A familiar scent wafts over him when he reaches the stairs. Osamu. Worried, Atsumu skips two, three steps climbing up. Notices the smell thickens, like burning woods diffused in gasoline, which spells danger.

On the landing stands Osamu, eyes staring down at Atsumu. Unreadable. Then he pivots on his heels, beginning to walk away.

"Hey!" 

Atsumu leaps up, catching Osamu by the wrist before Osamu gets away. There's no surprise in Osamu's face, though, as if he expected this. His expression remains stoic. Clashed with those heavy-lidded eyes, it sends a shiver down Atsumu's spine.

Whatever. Something is brewing inside Osamu's shitty brain, and he's going to rake it out, by force or not. Can't let this bleed into the match later.

"Yer scent smells awful. Somethin' happened?" Atsumu asks.

Osamu looks away. Thinking. Then meets Atsumu's eyes again. "That shit happened."

"Who."

No response. Instead, Osamu yanks his wrist out of Atsumu's hold. Perplexed, Atsumu stares while Osamu takes his leave before it hits Atsumu that Osamu always goes defensive whenever threats close in around Atsumu. Threats like asshole people, Omegas, Betas, Alphas—

Ishida.

Urgh, shitty, stupid, Alpha twin. One hand resting on his hip, Atsumu sighs, "Can't ya—urgh, fuckin' hell—cut that out? Toldja he's alright. Why can't ya—urgh, this is infuriating."

Osamu stops dead in his tracks. Glares over his shoulder. "He smells shit."

"'Cus he's an Alpha? What, yer gonna keep me in a cage, not letting me talk to any Alphas?"

"Ya can talk to Aran-kun. Oomimi-san. To me!"

"Stop tryin' to protect me like I'm a damsel in distress or something!!" Atsumu shouts back, burning in anger, "Ya said yerself, I'm yer twin. Not just some helpless Omega!!! So why don't cha walk the fuckin' talk?!"

Osamu worries at his bottom lip, brows knitted into a tight frown. As if he's waging war in his mind. Then he crouches down, arms over his head, hiding his face between his knees like he's in despair. And Atsumu doesn't get this.

He doesn't understand why a simple interaction with his new friend could affect Osamu to this extent.

"'Samu."

"I don't like 'im."

"I know. I'm gonna hang out wit' 'im, tho," Atsumu decides. It's his life. Osamu can't dictate his circle of friends just because 'Samu is Alpha and he's an Omega. Life doesn't work that way.

"I know. I know that. Just—" A pause. Osamu makes grabby hands in the air before he clenches them into fists, tight. Clenching, unclenching; a sign of exasperation and Osamu pushes himself to his feet. "Do whatever ya want. I be outta yer hair."

That sour scent. That expression. That gesture. All screams resignation, and it doesn't sit well with Atsumu. No, no, can't have 'Samu like this. Gotta do something. A countermeasure so he can have that burning scent lit back to life.

No, no, his Omega side can't stand this coldness—

His arms spread wide, just to have them yanked Osamu into his embrace, into his warmth, so this coldness vanishes, and Atsumu holds on tight.

Tight.

Tighter.

Tighter still.

"'Tsumu?"

"Yer whittling away. Can't have that. We've got prelims to win," Atsumu mumbles in Osamu's shoulder. Gripping at Osamu's upper arm. Hoping that his warmth can bring back that smoky scent.

It works, even if a little as Osamu melts in his arms. "...sorry."

For a moment, they settle in companionable silence. Should be going because Atsumu's phone is already chiming away; a call, probably Aran-kun. But Atsumu keeps his arms circled around Osamu. Keeps burying his nose in the crook of Osamu's neck.

"Am still gonna hang out wit' 'im," Atsumu repeats.

"He smells awful."

"He's okay."

"Agree to disagree," Osamu says.

"Yeah," Atsumu nods, "Agree to disagree."

They might not be on the same page. Might have another fight about this in the future, about other things since they're twins after all, but screw it, disagreement can be untangled later. They can chew each other's head later. Right now they have prelims to win, opponents to destroy. So Atsumu focuses on holding Osamu so Osamu can take in his scent to calm himself. 

To bring his Osamu back to his usual self.

  
  
  


...

  
  


For a change, their parents never bother Atsumu during the prelims. Their father ghosts them from time to time, which a relief since his absence gives Osamu more time to rest and focus on the game. Their mother takes charge of dinner and breakfast for the week. 

It's been a while since he had the taste of her cooking, thanks to Osamu's blooming love for food. So the first taste of her gyoza almost blows Atsumu away, reminded of Osamu's gummy smile after he tasted her dumpling years ago. Its juice explodes inside Atsumu's mouth, warm and tasty, and he moans out in delight.

"Delicious?" She pulls a chair, joining them at the table.

Atsumu slaps a hand on his lips, embarrassed.

"Osamu dear?"

Osamu keeps glaring at the gyoza pinched between his chopsticks as if it's done him terribly wrong. He makes a face. "Macchan, can I get the recipe? Need ta' know—the taste, how—"

Amused, their mother takes her chopsticks. "Eat first."

Dinner is a calm affair, then. Atsumu stuffs his face with rice and salmon roe and gyoza—basically, anything within his range, which is the entire table. Osamu, that glutton pig ain't doing any better, chewing his way through the bowl like he hadn't touched food for days.

It's all good until "How was the game?" An innocent question from their mother.

Warrants an answer, so Osamu says, "Good. We got into the semi-finals."

"I imagine the matches will be harder after this," she remarks.

Harder—hah, Atsumu wants to bark a laugh. He studied potential opponents at the sideline observing them play, most of them turned pale after witnessing his serving. Their pale faces are enough to rob his expectations away. Urgh.

"We be okay. Scrubs, that's what they are," Atsumu mutters darkly.

"Atsumu dear, don't say such a mean thing," their mother reprimands, too soft for his own good.

"What's wrong with callin' a scrub 'scrub'? 'Twas the truth," Atsumu argues. His chest is getting hotter, and he knows it has nothing to do with the chilly air of the late spring. "Or issit 'cus it ain't somethin' a good Omega would say?"

Their mother frowns. "I never—Atsumu dear, watching your language has nothing to do with dynamics. It's a human thing."

Human thing—bullshit, bullshit, bullshit!!! Everything feels hot, and his ears are ringing with noises, curses, even insults from those bastards. Anger takes over him, and Atsumu slams his chopsticks on the table. "If it has nothin' ta' do with dynamics, then why people keep calling me NAMES—"

"'Tsumu."

That one word. Enough to cut through the tension. Through his anger. Through his everything, and Atsumu is brought back to the dining table, eyes staring at his mother's horrified expression.

It takes him some time to find his voice again, even then it's raw and thick with emotions; regret, fear, anger. A swirl of negative thoughts crawls to the front of his mind, along with those nasty voices. "I—uh—this—"

"Atsumu dear—"

His stomach drops and Atsumu flees. The sound of the falling chair echoes in his eardrums.

  
  


...

  
  
  


The corner of the bedroom, a place for his nest, is his comfort zone, and Atsumu presses his side against the wall, knees pulled to his chest as he wraps his arms around himself. Not fear, just seeking comfort, overwhelmed by his sudden outburst.

The door creaks open. Osamu ambles inside, then kicks the door closed. Atsumu doesn't remove his gaze from his feet.

"What was tha'?" Osamu asks.

Atsumu can't find an answer for that.

"Ye yelled at Macchan when she was bein' all nice. Why?"

He's aware of that. Of his violent response. Of the unwarranted response. His mother didn't touch that taboo, annoying topic, and yet he put words into her mouth. Now he can't see the reason—no, his yelling wasn't justified at all. He shouldn't have done that.

(Or maybe it was justified. His mother had been trying to shape him into a proper Omega. It only made sense that he was falsely led to it. She had this coming—right?)

"Tsumu," Osamu's voice suddenly seems so near. Atsumu removes his gaze from his feet, only to meet Osamu's eyes in front of him. Osamu's smoky scent is heavy and comforting around them. There's a few feet of space between them; a sign of Osamu respecting Atsumu's territory. "Yer okay?"

Atsumu stares into Osamu's eyes. Identical to his own—brown, darkening into black. He opens his mouth. Clamps it shut. Takes a deep breath. "I don't know."

"Ya don't know."

"I don't know."

"What can I do ta' help?"

An offer to comfort. And something inside him—his Omega side—yearns for it. Desperate for it. Wanting to be pulled into those arms, into that warmth, into that smoky scent and to be bathed in it until his thoughts settle again. Until the fury in his chest vanishes. Every fibre in his body screams at him to take the offer, to allow himself to be vulnerable, just for a second so he can—

"I be okay," Atsumu says instead, hiding his face in his knees. Can't give in to that side of his. That was just his Omega's wish, not him.

A sigh is heard from Osamu. Atsumu can't see, but he can guess that Osamu gets back to his feet from his heavy huff. Before long, the smoky scent becomes faint. There's a sound of the door opening and a "Macchan's tryin', y'know, but it ain't easy. I ain't askin' ya ta' forgive her, but at least, dial down yer defensiveness 'round her."

Atsumu takes Osamu's words with a grain of salt, too bitter in his own space.

  
  


...

  
  


The prelims blur away before Atsumu can feel satisfaction settle into his bones. Before he can enjoy those matches. His heart yearns for something more. His muscles screamed to be strained, to be pulled and relaxed, but those scrubs weren't enough. Atsumu watched with cold eyes as those scrubs hung their heads low, defeated.

Alphas, Betas—bunches of scrubs are what they are. In the end, they could only stare in horrified disbelief as another service ace ripped into their court effortlessly. Not worth his time.

A week after the prelims ended, Atsumu comes to his aunt's house unannounced, with Osamu trailing behind him, armed with plastic bags and a loud yell. "We've come to bother ya, Nao-ba!!"

His aunt makes an unimpressed look, a lollipop stick between her gritting-teeth, blue-dyed hair tied into a messy bun, a hand resting on her hip. She stands in the doorway, unashamed of her tits almost spilt out of her white tank tops.

"Nao-ba, yer tops—"

"Eyes up 'ere, ya shit," she whacks Atsumu around the head.

"I bought stuff," Osamu toes off his shoes, "Fer dinner."

Stars sparkle in her eyes. "Yer gonna cook? Know ye love me, Osamu."

"Where's Granny?" Atsumu cranes his neck over her.

"Resting in her room." She peeks into the bags Osamu is carrying, excited to see the familiar packaging, "Hey, is that—wow, meat!! Didja buy this from Mito-baachan?! Please say yes, please say yes!!!"

"Yep," Osamu says.

"Ohhhh, yer th'best, Osamu!!! I love her meat—"

As they chatter away, Atsumu makes his way to his grandmother's room; the master bedroom. He slides the door quietly so as to not startle the occupant inside, in case his grandmother is sleeping. Inside, Atsumu finds her going through the album in the middle of the room, bathed in the squarish evening sunlight instead of in the futon. The orange-ish light gives a beautiful tint to her silver hair and her fond smile.

"Isn't that dear Atsumu?"

His face breaks into a soft smile. He doesn't mind the question, aware of ageing eating away at the memory vault. Then, Atsumu pads across the room to her side. He sits down, legs folded under him, mimicking his grandmother. 

"Yep, it's 'Tsumu."

"Dear Osamu?"

"Kitchen, makin' dinner." Atsumu peers at one of the photos. It's the photo of him and Osamu sleeping in the cradles of their parents' arms, cheeks round and pudgy as babies should be. He pokes at the picture. "Wow, chubby. Wonder how pudgy those were."

"Like jelly." his grandmother says, amused.

"Jelly—Granny, we ain't food!!!"

"Dear Osamu liked ta' chew on yer cheek, tho."

"That's 'cus he's a glutton pig. Always had, will always be," Atsumu grouses.

His grandmother flips to the next page; more of their pictures—playing, eating, sleeping, things that hadn't registered in Atsumu's brain. Too early for the memories to develop. She hums, almost wistfully. "Yer two were inseparable. Attached at th'hip. Always sought each other when separated." She ran her wrinkled fingers down the photos, deep in her memory lane. "I remember dear Osamu cried ta' sleep when yer mum put ya in th'other room 'cus of fever." 

Huh. Something warm unfurls in Atsumu's chest. He wishes he had the memory, not to tease, just to cherish after knowing his significance in Osamu's life. But hey, "'Samu's a scrub. Can't live without me," Atsumu snorts, amused since he's no saint.

"Yer precious ta' 'im." She turns to another page.

"Am no diamond to be tha' precious."

"Of course yer not. Yer more valuable than tha'. Priceless, even," she says, with a small smile, with a hint of crow feet at the corner of her eyes.

Atsumu doesn't say a word, then. Touched by her words. Warmth envelops him in the centre, endearing and pleasant. Silence dawns on them as she goes through the pages, one at a time. Only the whirring table fan breaks the tranquillity in the air.

"My dear Atsumu," she breathes, her tone dripping with maturity and experience, "Ye don't hafta be strong all th'time. Ye have dear Osamu. Let 'im in too. This life is too scary and exhausting to venture alone."

Her words get Atsumu thinking hard. Many questions arise instead of answers, and it gets Atsumu all confused. Sure he has Osamu by his side all the time, something he takes for granted, Atsumu is aware of that, but he never puts up a wall between them. Never. That notion alone is impossible.

So letting 'Samu in—how can he let Osamu in when he never builds a wall between them. Huh, a big how there indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look at my lousy attempt at picking up the pace XD


	10. Chapter 10

It isn't the first time Atsumu laments over a defeat, and it isn't going to be the last, either. 

Most of the time that fades when he realizes winning and losing is a tradition in games. When he understands that there's always a better team out there. And he's only a human who can do so much. Also, Osamu's cooking perhaps has something to do with it. Fatty tuna might be his favourite, but Osamu's handmade sushi has always been his comfort food.

When the impulse doesn't fade, though, he beats himself over it. Atsumu storms into the and carelessly dumps his bag on the floor out of spite.

"—Samu, I totally could've tossed it far right, but they—"

Osamu follows him into the comfort of their bedroom, throws his bag on the study chair, and watches Atsumu sink into the bottom bunk. "Ye could have, but it didn't happen. Get yerself over it."

"They read me—I let 'em read me—" Facing the wall, Atsumu clutches the pillow under his head tightly, frustrated.

Frustrated by that stupid, quiet Beta spiker from Itachiyama read his tosses like a book. By the libero who effortlessly received his jump floaters like his hours of practice had borne no fruits. 

Frustrated by his own lack of abilities which then led to Itachiyama's victory at Interhigh. He's the fucking setter, dammit, he should've done better—

"Quit thinkin' dumb shit," followed by a light slap on his head that has Atsumu spinning his head around, annoyed.

"The fuck was tha'?!"

By the bed is Osamu, a hand resting on his hip while another holds a book out. Seems like the book was the culprit. With a raised brow, Atsumu takes the book. Ah, it's his certificate book holder. When did Osamu fish it out of his bag?—from the corner of his eye, he catches it wide open, the items inside spilling out on the floor.

...right.

Huffing out an annoyed breath, Atsumu sits up. "What."

"Open it fer me."

"Why do I hafta do it?"

"Do it."

"I know what's inside. It's my certificate."

"Just do it."

If 'Samu so insists, then whatever. Atsumu flips it open, casting a sidelong glare at his twin. "There, satisfied?"

"Read 'em aloud."

Annoyed, Atsumu grits out, "What games yer playin—"

"Do. It."

He swears he's gonna smother 'Samu's face with a pillow later. Atsumu grouses, reading like a kid in the middle of the classroom, forced, "Certification of recognition. Presented to Miya Atsumu. In recognition of the most outstanding setter in high school—"

"Ya hear tha'?" Osamu cuts him off.

"I ain't finished—"

"The most outstanding setter."

"And?"

"Ya," Osamu says, "The most outstandin' setter in Japan's high schools. Not tha' guy from Itachiyama. Not from Kamomedai. It's Inarizaki's Miya Atsumu. It's ya."

Atsumu opens his mouth. Clamps it shut when he stares into Osamu's sincere gaze. Bright. Wide. In those eyes reflects a boy whose face crumples up, gaze glassy. Something tugs at his chest. Hard. There's a warm sensation inside him too, and Atsumu doesn't know what to do with it. Instead, he hugs the book holder to his heart.

"Twas Interhigh, 'Tsumu. Th'tournament where the only best teams got it," Osamu reminds him, "And out of those best teams, we got the second place. And guess what, ye brought us ta' th'second place."

No, no, that wasn't true. It was the team effort. "Not me. Ye too," Atsumu denies, his voice barely a whisper, as though he's trying to convince himself that but fails, "Rin too. Aran-kun. The team."

At that, Osamu's hard face melts into a soft smile. And that causes Atsumu's breath to catch in his throat. Osamu says, sitting on Atsumu's bed, "Say whatever ye want. Th'team knew yer the star. Without ye, we couldn't go this far. Ye carried us to Interhigh. To finals. That certificate is the proof."

This—wow, he can't articulate even a word. His tongue feels like a lead, heavy, overwhelmed by this warm sensation in his chest. Something very much like butterflies flutters in his gut, and it grows stronger when Osamu takes his right hand into his own, running his thumb on Atsumu's palm print, not quite pressing but enough to stimulate his nerves. Being this close, Atsumu can feel Osamu's warm breath on his skin.

It's strange how his bunk bed now feels like an intimate space.

"Ye took good care of your fingers. Ye made sure to take care of yer health. Ye made sure to perfect yer jump floaters. Ye trained yerself to set at any possible angles and situations. Ye even watched those tapes at late nights so ye could understand yer opponents better," Osamu recalls, with a small smile, eyes studying Atsumu's calloused palm, "These little things made you a great setter, and brought our team to the second place at Interhigh."

A beat of pause. And then.

"Hey, 'Tsumu," Osamu lifts his gaze, "Dontcha feel proud of yerself? 'Cus I am. Proud of ya, that is."

That.

Oh.

Wow.

Nothing can describe this feeling in his chest, brewing into something, like a transition from spring to summer, not unwelcome but quite unbearable either. One thing for sure, it's foreign. Atsumu never feels this because as long as he can remember, people only acknowledge his skills. They dub him as a monster because he always seems to stand on the top, far from reach when everything is just.

They were the results of his practice. Of his efforts. He wasn't born talented. He worked for it, slaved himself over it for years, endured the taunts and glares so he could have what he has now, and Osamu—he—

—acknowledges them.

And that.

A sob.

Atsumu sobs. It begins a small noise, that little hiccup, one, two, three before more fat tears stream down his cheeks, from this overwhelming happiness, and it's like a breaking dam after that. He bursts out crying, shoulders heaving up and down, overwhelmed by his tight chest, warm gut, even pink cheeks. The heel of his palm drags across his wet face, yet to no avail as snot runs down his face.

"'Tsumu?" Osamu panics, "Tsumu, Tsumu, what issit? Tell me."

"Ninja—" Atsumu lies between his ugly sobs, "Ninja—onions—"

A sigh sneaks past Osamu's lips. Then he chuckles, "Yea. Screw ninjas. Want me ta' hold ya?"

Usually, he'd have smacked Osamu upside down for even posing that question. Usually, he'd have stared at Osamu in disbelief because no, his ego wouldn't have accepted that. But this isn't usual. He doesn't always bawl his eyes out despite what people believe. There are things meant to be kept inside, and this—

Atsumu leans into Osamu's warmth, wiping his snot on Osamu's shoulder. He croaks out, "Yeah, stupid ninjas," even though he isn't sure what's that supposed to mean. He feels Osamu wrap his arms around him, and Atsumu makes himself smaller in his embrace, tucks his face in the crook of Osamu's shoulder, inhales Osamu's smoky scent, feels, for once, that he's allowed to break like this too. 

This has nothing to do with him being the elder twin, and 'Samu the younger one. Nor does this have anything to do being an Omega and an Alpha.

This moment, this little space, on his bunk bed, while he latches his fingers onto Osamu's front shirt, while Osamu holds him close, with the certificate book holder sandwiched between them, is just him, an exhausted and touched soul, shaking in Osamu's arms.

  
  


...

  
  


A dainty hand on his shoulder blade rouses Atsumu from his sleep. The first thing his brain registers is a smoky scent filling his nose. He cracks an eye open, blearily, notices his pillow heaving beneath his cheek. He lifts his face, only to meet his mother's gleaming glasses, face bathed from the light in the hallway spilling into the room.

"Wake your brother up. Dinner," his mother says.

Brother, 'Samu—he pushes himself up, catching a faint groan underneath him, and realizes, uh oh, it's 'Samu in his bed, sleeping soundly, teeth clenching as he scratches his jaw. There's a line on Atsumu's cheek where it was pressed on the front shirt and Atsumu palms over it. Feels his cheek heat up.

"You two probably fell asleep after getting home," his mother whispers, "I'm sorry I couldn't come to your final games and ceremony."

"...Twas fine." Atsumu means it this time, too sleepy to get worked up over mundane things. As long as he has Osamu by his side, he'll be fine. Osamu's support is all he needs.

Osamu's words, 'Proud of ya,' complete with that small smile, flash across his thoughts. A blush rises to his cheeks. Atsumu removes himself from the comfort of his bed as quickly as his tired body allows him, hoping his mother doesn't catch his red face. And instantly mourns over the loss of Osamu's smoky scent but masks it up.

"It was really not. I got Osamu's text. The best setter in high school?" his mother smiles, "This calls for a feast. We could eat out this weekend. Any request?"

Food has always been his parents' tactic to win over Atsumu's heart. He learned this after his father had confiscated his phone for getting into trouble (challenging an Alpha at school), and his mother had offered him ramen afterwards. He wonders if his parents picked this up from the Asian Parents 101 book.

(Atsumu would rather settle with a simple acknowledgement of how proud they are of him just like Osamu did, but he doesn't want to push his luck.)

So he answers, "Yakiniku?" a meal that he doesn't doubt Osamu will enjoy as well. On the second thought, that shit never declines food regardless of the taste.

"Yakiniku, it is." His mother pivots on her heel and heads for the door. In the doorway, she pauses, "Tell your brother to wake up, or he wouldn't be able to sleep tonight," and walks out of the room.

Right. A glance at his phone tells him that it's dark out. Crap, they slept the entire evening away. With a huff, Atsumu nudges Osamu awake. "Hey, c'mon, get up, dinner."

Osamu groans. He makes a clicking sound as if not on board with the idea of getting up, and inches away from Atsumu's touch. With no hint of waking up. Annoyed, Atsumu lightly slaps Osamu's cheek. 

"C'mon, ya shit. Dinner."

"...hm?"

"Wake up."

"Ergh," Osamu rubs the sleep away from his eyes, "Wha' time issit?" he asks, voice heavy with sleep.

"Dinner time."

"...oh."

For a quiet moment, Atsumu just watches Osamu wake up in languid increment like he's entitled to take his sweet time to get his brain function again. Like it's his bed, not Atsumu's. Even noses into Atsumu's pillow as if it belongs to him. And cracks an eye open at Atsumu.

"...don't feel like eatin'."

Atsumu's brow shots up. "What."

Osamu curls his arms around Atsumu's pillow, rubbing his cheek up and down, lashes fluttering closed, while his body stretches out across the mattress, with that bliss look, almost like a cat lazing in the sun, and hums, "Yer scent," he says, "Smells good."

Oh, that, wait. Those gestures; they are Alpha behaviours—

Red surges to Atsumu's face for the second time that late evening. He yanks his pillow from Osamu's clutch, "Don't. Fuckin'. Scent. My. Pillow! Stupid 'Samu!!!"

  
  


...

  
  


Osamu's smoky scent lasts for days on his pillow. Even then, Atsumu doesn't wash it away. He chalks it up to not having another pillowcase even though he knows their mother keeps them somewhere in the wardrobe.

  
  


...

  
  


The news of their team getting second place in Interhigh spreads like wildfire. Gin keeps getting swarmed by those scrubs despite his weak protests—his flustered expression tells Atsumu that shit enjoys the attention, but whatever—while Atsumu himself receives stares, filled with unreadable intentions.

Nothing different from the usual, but it doesn't make it less uncomfortable.

Letters have his shoe locker almost jammed that he has to pry it open by force. They spill down on his feet like a waterfall. With a sigh, Atsumu picks them up.

Only to realize those were confession letters, not threats.

...uhm, okay.

"Geez, they just don't know when ta' stop," Osamu cranes over his neck from Atsumu's behind.

"No, lookit," Atsumu passes one of the letters over his shoulder to Osamu.

It's not immediate, but close enough to call it one. It takes Osamu a minute to process the content of the letter, the flowery words, praises, even confessions, and before Atsumu knows it, his smoky scent spreads across the hallway. The letter crumples in Osamu's clutch. A dark look takes over Osamu's expression.

"Buncha desperate attention whores," Osamu grits out, "Think they could hog yer glory just like tha'? Fucking assholes."

Oh, wow. "Yer kiss Mum wit' tha' mouth? Ew."

"That's one hella scary look? What's got Osamu's pants twisted?" Rin emerges from Atsumu's left, one hand shoved in the pocket while another one types away at his phone. He peeks at the letter in Osamu's clutch. "A threat again?"

"Confession," Atsumu corrects. "Most of them are. Apparently, am hot stuff now since our team got second place."

"Aha, planning to ride the fame? Typical greedy shit," Rin cackles. "Good for you, anyway. Fewer insults now. They're gonna start to worship the path you walk on. Oh, don't tell me some of them are offering courtship too?"

"No, they are not," Osamu interrupts.

Atsumu arches a brow. "I haven't read 'em all."

"No."

A sigh slips past Atsumu's lips. "Relax. Am not plannin' ta' accept any. Tone down yer Alpha growl a bit, wouldja?"

On cue, Osamu visibly deflates, tension bleeding out of his chest, which earns a cackle from Rin. The smoky scent in the hallway thins out a little. Rin butts in, phone undoubtedly recording the whole thing, "It's amusing to see an Alpha listening to an Omega like this. Love it. Keep it up, yeah?"

"Delete th'dang video, or I'll have 'Samu bite your arm," Atsumu warns, shoving the letters into his bag. No doubt it's gonna be filled to the brim—oh, even Osamu offers his hand by bagging them as well.

"Wuuu~" Rin feigns scared.

"I'll really do it," Osamu agrees.

"Right-o, that's my cue to get the fuck outta here," Rin pockets his phone, spinning on his heel, "Osamu, let me copy your homework later."

"Piss off," Osamu calls. Rin, that shit, replies with his middle finger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it was short. i haven’t been feeling well lately. i kinda relapsed, soo uhm, im taking it easy for now. i had to post this chapter or it was gonna sit in the draft longer than you’d have liked. sorry TT


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